


Frostbite

by TheWanderingAlias



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Multi, Princess reader, Romance, Smut, dragon johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 09:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16870447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingAlias/pseuds/TheWanderingAlias
Summary: You’ve heard that the dragon of the mountain grants wishes to those who survive the treacherous climb. So when you find a handsome, yet cold, man at the top, will he grant you your questionable request?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon!Johnny x Princess! Reader

It is dusk that settles over the horizon when you hike up your dress, ankle boots showing no mercy to your tender toes as you clamor over a bed of weathered rocks. A huff escapes your lips, pebbles piercing your palm as you brace yourself atop the cliff. You’ve finally made it.

Above you, the mountainous cavern towers—joined at the clouds, surrounded by stars and this eve’s lightning storm. The atmosphere sucks the air from your lungs, and you’re forced to take whispers of breath until you’ve adjusted. It’s chilly, your layers of skirts and stockings doing nothing to temper the skin of your legs. And the lair before you is just as raw, seeping of eerie iciness and painting your cheeks rosily.

When you stand, it’s with a wobble, having finally been caught in the shift of gravity. You groan, carefully approaching the cave entrance to steer clear of the cliff edge as your head throbs. Atmospheric pressure.

You had heard the tales of brave travelers who traversed the dangerous range. The journey is a grueling four-hour climb. Obstacles like mountain wolves and unstable, eroded Earth threaten the trek. It is everything you trained for, in secret. Your guide waits impatiently at the bottom of the ridge, with no way of knowing if you’d return. He is confident, though, in your abilities, for it is he who trained and prepared you for the adventure.

As you catch your breath, you recount the knowledge you possess of the notorious cave dweller. Your guide provided most, as he once frequented the climb for sport.

The dragon is no myth. All the kingdom knows of this, and yet, a select few have bore witness to the beast. The rest are shrouded by a blanket of fear for what demise the monster is sure to bring unto the land.

Supposedly, from the whispers of market people, as you hid your identity underneath a well-tailored coat, the dragon grants a wish to those who are favored by the gods enough to be spared from a tragic death during the ascent.

He possesses a magic beyond reptilian norm, said the fruit keeper as you eavesdropped in the marketplace that fateful noon. It was oft that you abandoned your quarters, the castle, having convinced your servants to swear secrecy, and found yourself meandering around the common folk flocking the town center of your kingdom.

“Well I’ve heard that he torches trespassers alive. A merciless lizard, if you ask me.” The bread baker had pitched in, you narrowly dodging the sight of a passing guard.

Whatever rumors are true and untrue, you trek today not fearful of the dragon, for your fright therein lies with another beast. Today you will either live or die, and yet you cannot find a difference in these variables.

As you relax against the smooth, sapphire-like stones, you watch the swirling storm above. It is endlessly brewing overtop the mountain, cracking with lightning and thunder, and you wonder if this, too, is a power the beast holds. Like a warning to keep out.

Gulping, nervousness rattling your bones, you peer towards the cave entrance, just at your right, where condensation dots the walls. Drops of what must be water fall from within, an eerie echo following in suit. Tendrils of wind slice the air, whistling by your ears. Menacing.

And yet the rocks beneath you tremble, and the stone lining the walls hum, and it feels almost as though the mountain is alive, beneath your boots and fingertips.

With little trepidation, for you have come so far, you make peace with the cave entrance and officially embrace the lair of the dragon.

Time runs its own course, it seems, and it feels as though you are perusing a maze. It’s as though hours have past—dusk taking a leave of absence and dawn starting anew, and a trouble brews within the pit of your being.

You weren’t meant to be gone for so long. By morning, you were to be back in your chamber, arising from your bed just in time for breakfast with the King and Queen.

Is it too late to return? They’ll have discovered you’re missing in no time, and the thought makes you pause.

But the cave entrance is not where you left it.

You pivot heel-to-heel, a frown marring your cheeks as the blistering wind chill flushes them.

 _No,_ you think,  _am I trapped?_

And yet, the cavern, which should have been encompassed by night, was alight with mysterious orbs of lapis. Like jewels decorating the walls, and the skies, the orbs float with a dim radiance, scattered with no focal point. Your surroundings are not unwelcoming, you gratefully think as you finger the candle and flint in your coat, as you can see enough to avoid collision.

It certainly  _feels_ magical, and again, you wonder if this doing is at the hands of the beast.  _Or claws_ , you snigger, boots leading you to a clearing.

As if transferred to another dimension, one where the tall mountain is made to feel even taller from within, you marvel the sight above you. The cavern seems to have expanded in girth—a barren ball room. And yet, these orbs that have guided you float in place, up, up, up, to a height your eyes cannot see. It’s cone-like in structure, and you twirl a few times, mesmerized by the lights that transcend human understanding. Some flutter rapidly, like the leaf falling back into place after the onslaught of a rain drop, and some gracefully sway, to and fro, like a piece of written poetry caught between two soft winds.

They color differently too—gradients of blues and whites and deep, deep emeralds.

“Wow.”

A laugh that isn’t bitter exhales from you, and for the first time, you are experiencing bliss. A sensation so foreign to you that it damn near brings a tear to your eye. An eye which, in its endeavors, catches the sight of a very human-like structure against the wall.

You cross the threshold, barely covering a third of the space, as you take in the vision of stairs, as stone-like as the rest of the cavern. Gentle orbs light the path, and your eyes follow, tracing the stairs as they curl around the room in a spiral-like manner, all the way to the top.

 _What lies beyond my eyes, though?_ Is what you wonder with a precautionary step. Your feet are sore, your ankles, tender, your vision is spotty, and yet, you feel nothing stronger than the need to trudge forth.

With a strained breath, you begin the second climb, unknowing of the eyes watching your every move.

A buckle of your knees has you collapsing over the final step, palms flying out to brace the landing before your face does. Luckily, time is on your side, and you relinquish the moment with a breath of relief. You shakily rise to your full height.

While the air downstairs was cold and moist, there is a significant change in the atmosphere where you now stand.

The air is dryer, and warmer, despite being higher up, and the notion has you blinking in confusion. Before you is another opening, though this one is smaller, as the cone-like structure of the mountain suggests, and surprisingly, furnished with objects incredibly recognizable. There is a table shaped from evident oak that consumes much of a far wall. A silken bed with four towering posts, massive and colored like noire, sits in the center. Surrounding are few other furnishing items that grab your attention, like a wardrobe, and corner chair.

And though the room is enveloped by stone walls, curving like a dome, the entire ceiling is open, and you spy, not a swirling lightning storm above, but a wondrous expanse of stars in the night sky.

Relief floods you as you gauge the moon’s position in the sky. You still have plenty of time.

 _But where is the storm?_ Your eyes flit back to the bed.  _And is this the dragon’s nest?_ Bewildered, though doubtful, you round the thing, fingers swiping against the softest material you never felt in the castle.

_Must be a very small dragon._

“Or just a normal sized human, I’m afraid.”

You swivel around, eyes wide and unexpecting to behold the sight of the man. He is young in the face, perhaps carrying a year or two longer than you, his hair long and wispy around his forehead. Lips, the upper rather the lower, plumped and enticing, below a strong nose that pulls together his sharp features. And it’s his eyes—slanted like angry almonds—that pierce into yours and your soul. They are an icy white, frosted like last winter’s lakes.

And despite his words, he is most certainly  _not_ just a normal sized human.

“You’re quite tall.” You whisper, tendrils of terror from his presence disappearing as soon as they arrive. “And you read thoughts?” you tremble under his gaze, excited. A fist clenches at your bosom as you take an unconscious step forward, absolutely  _marveled_ by his being.

Though his eyes are cold, and while you seem comfortable in his lair, his are unwelcoming and pierce you as though you are a peasant under his boot.

“Not thoughts. Emotions. Feelings. You were confused.” And his voice is the bridge between a grave depth and angelic melody, mellifluous and ringing in your ears even seconds after being heard. You stare at him in awe.

“You are magical.”

“I am a dragon.” He stares you down, you who excitedly forgoes the weariness of your legs and hop girlishly in place.

_Nonsense, he is but a man._

“I must be dreaming! I knew you were real all along, but who’d have thought a sorcerer lived atop the mountain—!”

“I am no sorcerer.”

“—and this place is so miraculous and mysterious, befitting of a man beholding wizarding skills such as yours—!”

“This is my home and I am no wizard either.”

“I mean, truly, I’ve never seen anything like it—nowhere in the kingdom is as extraordinary as—”

“PRINCESS!” He bellows, his voice twisting into something devilish and unkind. Then his skin, naturally a tone between honey and ivory, is shifting. No, it isn’t his skin, but the material beneath it, pressing into it and threatening to tear through. They are scales, a glisten of sapphire diamonds, that dance against his cheek. His white eyes flash, something you receive as a warning, and you’re stepping back immediately, tripping over your skirts.

The moment your bum hits the stone is the same moment fear first embeds itself into your blood. You shiver under his gaze, and while his eyes darken to their natural state, his expression remains stern and firm.

_He is a dragon._

“Realization. Fear.” The scales disappear from his features as you balk. He fixes the cuffs at his wrist as he studies you. “I am not a sorcerer. I am not a wizard. I am a dragon, and this mountain is my home.” The tall man saunters to where you lie, shaken, and stands before you. You are but a pitiful ant in his eye. “So, pray tell me, why have you come?”

 _He’s… he’s not killing me._ You release a breath, coming to your senses. Your head bows in apology and shame. “I’m sorry for intruding, but I heard some rumors that you could help me with something.”

The dragon merely raises an arched brow, his lips pulled tight. “Do you always believe in rumors, princess?” his tone is menacing, but your fear has been swept away. Now that you think back to the matter at hand, if the dragon can’t help you, you have a more frightening future ahead. But then it registers.

“Wait, you know who I am?” You slowly stand, exhaustion pulling at your bones. The dragon is unphased by your question, and, instead, turns away, crossing the floor of his roost to stand before the oak table. You take the time to sit on his bed, observing his figure.

His feet are barren, and he is as broad as he is tall—the loose, silk robe he dons does nothing but enhance the curve of his shoulders. His pants are leather, thin, like the wind-protectant material knights wear beneath their armor. He is shrouded in blackness, and you are amazingly unperturbed.

“Your perfectly tailored cloak does little to hide your doll-like features, your highness.” He states while fingering the polished furniture. “Besides, you smell refreshing.” You would have blushed if not for the cynical tone his voice bears. You have a feeling it’s not a compliment. “Only the arrogant royals can afford the luxuries of cleanliness.” The dragon is quick to add, firing a dull look your way. And so you are correct.

You scoff, but don’t deny it. The dragon continues.

“Given your age, I would have to assume you’re the royal daughter of the King and Queen. The one whose rumors of rebellious nature breach even the tallest of mountains.”

You frown. “Do you always believe in rumors,  _dragon_?”

The man turns slightly, a dagger in his eye. And yet, a glint of perhaps amusement as well. You cherish it, because he is certainly more handsome when he doesn’t look as though he wants to wring your neck.

“I believe it because your guide outside is not only a friend of mine, but a member of the royal guard as well.”

_Oh. So they are acquainted._

You grumble under your breath at not having the last word but carry on nonetheless. “I didn’t think you were so close.”

“He comes once a full moon. I let him because, well, his intentions are not as others’.” You think back to your guide. A sweet, protective man, who knows the terrain and danger well merely because he’s so familiar with traversing it for fun.  _“I’m the best person to get you up that mountain because ascending it is but a game to me.”_ He had claimed with a proud smirk. And he trained you to climb, and to fend off wolves, and to identify unstable soil.

And yet you ordered that he remain at the bottom, your only demand being that he return to the castle on his lonesome if you do not descend by sunrise.

“Why are you alone, princess?” Nothing but genuine curiosity and a sliver of disgust in his words.

“I wanted to make the ascent alone. I knew that if I could do that much without assistance, I would have the courage to ask your graciousness for a favor.” Your voice is gentle, and it’s noticeable that you’re carefully picking your syllables.

“Ah, a self-proclaiming prophecy? If you defeat the mountain alone, you’re gifted the courage to take on the big, bad dragon?” He sneers, fingers clasping ahold of a previously discarded loaf of bread.

“I am not here to take you on,” your arms cross and you frown. “I said I came for a favor, and I damn well am here for a favor alone.”

The dragon is caught off guard by this, and he sends you a sharp look that brings colors to your cheeks. “A cursing princess? Never heard of one.” He smirks, and you’re forced the glance away, because  _gods_ he is more devilishly handsome than every royal you’ve met. “What do you seek from me?”

The dragon leans against the table, folding his arms until the vertex of his collarbones peek out and you’re about to fumble over your words.

“I… I am to be wed.” Your stomach drops as you recount the situation. It is beyond your control. “I am of age now, and a marriage between kingdoms will prove beneficial to both parties.” You frown.  “My parents wish to wed me to a prince from a partnering kingdom. But I know not of the groom aside from the fact he is quite old and rather unchivalrous.”

The dragon has since moved since the start of your monologue. He circles round the room, his footfalls echoing against the stone as the brightest moon above brings a pale light to his cheeks. You are still sat on his massive bed, eyes focused on the twiddling of your thumbs.

You hear his voice behind you, and it is not warm, but it is not cold even more so. It is as though he sympathizes you, or pities you, when he asks, “What is it you wish for?”

Finally, you turn, finding his glacial orbs in the night sky. He towers over you, and you cannot distinguish his features from the shadows that consume them. You stand tall; firmly.

“I wish for you to kidnap me from my castle.”


	2. Chapter 2

You arrive just in time to close the entrance of your balcony and meet the worried gaze of a servant at the door. “I’ve just come to fetch you for breakfast… milady, have you only just now returned from your journey?” She’s hushed as she hurries in to close the door behind her.

You tiredly smile at the woman, a knot from lack of sleep forming in the back of your neck. “Seulgi, I told you not to call me that. Just Y/N, please. And yes, it seems I’m just in time.”

Seulgi draws her skirts from the floor as she rounds you, charming eyes filled with concern. “Then the gods favor you. Y/N… are you alright? Pardon my bluntness, but it seems as though you’ve been run over by a stampede of pack mules.” She wrestles you out of your robe and ushers you into the bath. While she pours prepared buckets of steaming water into the tub, you tell her about your tale, sparing the details about the dragon and why your whereabouts found you a certain distance out of the kingdom.

“This mountain you speak of… it wouldn’t happen to be the dragon’s nest, would it?” She side-eyes you suspiciously, as though she already knows the answer, so you glance away. It wouldn’t hurt to speak some of the truth.

“I wanted the experience of climbing before being shipped off to another kingdom. Besides, I was with my guard. I was completely safe.” You try to reassure your kind maid. Still, she unproudly wears a frown.

“Milady—ah, Y/N, you know that I trust Jaehyun to keep you safe here in the kingdom, but sneaking out of the castle and into those uncivilized lands is dangerous. By the gods, even embarking into the town on your own is a risk in itself. If you’re caught, the King and Queen will never let you leave the castle again.”

You quirk your lip. “Will that keep me from marrying that old imbecile from Tinsleton?”

“Milady!” Still, she can not hold back her giggles. 

You can’t blame her for being so concerned. She’s been with you for as long as you remember—it was Seulgi’s mother who assisted in your birth. By bloodline, she is sworn to serve your family, but you can’t possibly think of her as less than a friend.

When the tub is full, she helps you with your abundance of sweaty cloth. Her eyes are soft. “I’m sorry this is the path your life has taken, and I wish it was within my control to help you.” She squeezes your shoulder as you count the buttons lining her uniform. “But it is ultimately the gods who decide fate, and I am by no means as glorious a deity as they.”

You laugh. “Seulgi, you’re even more glorious than the gods, to I.”

She chuckles, choosing to murmur her appreciation as she works your stockings off your legs.

“I’ll tell your parents that you’re ailing and unable to join. Please bathe yourself and rest a bit, yeah?” She offers a pretty smile, waiting until you’re entirely undressed to carry the battered gown and accessories away for a thorough repair and wash.

When she’s gone, the black of her maid uniform swaying behind her, you test a foot in the water, groaning immediately. Your feet are blistered from the trek, but the heat is just  _so soothing._  So as you dip your entirety within the confines of the warmth, you recount the events of the recent hours, lavender oils Seulgi so kindly provided wafting through the air.

_“You want me…” He raises an eyebrow, “to kidnap you from your castle?”_

_You’re quick to nod after him, heels clicking together as you face him. “Yes, that is my wish.”_

_The dragon studies you, for a quick minute, white orbs flitting over the features exposed underneath the hood of your cloak. Then, he brings the loaf of bread to his lips, taking a menacingly slow bite. Crumbs fall from the stale pumpernickel and your eyes dart up to the moon again, the clearest indication of the passage of time. It must be midnight._

_You had left town in secret with Jaehyun a quarter after five, embarking on an hour ride from the kingdom to the dragon’s nest. You had known your parents would not be around for dinner, as they were busy meeting with Tinsleton’s King and Queen in private to discuss the terms of your engagement. You knew it was the only opportunity to evade the castle through the night and not be caught. Jaehyun had escorted you in secret all the way._

_Then, at the arrival to the mountain, it was a four-hour ascent, but time was lost within. The current position of the moon indicates that you had been wandering around the cavern for close to two hours. The thought brings shock to you, and you look to the dragon, prepared to question if this is the magic he beholds, when he says, “You know,” He swallows his bread. “most people wish for luck or fortune, your highness.” His face is expressionless, but his tone is light._

_“I seek none of that.” You cross your arms, tilting your chin up. Your hood falls back slightly. The dragon cocks his head, his thumb digging into the loaf of bread._

_“I would imagine, given you’re a royal and already accustomed to these feats.” You bite back a groan. The dragon continues. “Though, as for your wish, I dare say it wouldn’t require magic.” He pauses, and you see something unidentifiable swimming in his eyes. This is the moment of truth. Will he agree? Or have you come all this way for naught?_

_“I’ll do it.”_

You dip your head beneath the water, scrubbing yourself free of grime and whatever else had accumulated from the journey.

_“I’ll do it, since you have come all this way.” He affirms, and you feel yourself smiling until he scowls after you. “Easy to please, it seems.” The dragon scoffs, crossing the floor to chuck the loaf back onto the table carelessly, like one would send a dog meat._

_“When will you do it?” You question, relief soaring through your blood, but your sore feet failing you. You sit back onto his bed._

_The air is quiet as his back is to you, and you find him studying one of the floating orbs that managed a way into the Roost. He hums._

_“That is for my awareness and not yours.”_

_You flinch, “wait, but I must know. I must prepare—”_

_“Princess,” he smooths his fingers over the orb before giving it a gentle push. It floats down the stairs with grace, perhaps, to join the others. The dragon grants you his glacial eyes. “It would be more convincing if I provided the element of surprise, would it not? Elsewise, it is but a scheme revealed to all of the kingdom.”_

_You swallow under his gaze. He speaks truths, but you are still unnerved._

He could be here at any given moment. As you bathe. As you sleep. There is a river of dirt flowing through your breasts as you think this, curious if he would dare intrude on you in such a compromising state.

_“Fine,” you concede, “I will prepare my belongings when I return to my quarters, so that much is cared for.” You release a breath, tempted to fall back into his silken sheets and sleep the morning away._

_The man hums, and you watch the stars above twinkle. It’s so calming and serene—nothing like the massive storm in the kingdom’s eyes._

_“You have a lovely Roost, dragon.” Your comment is quiet, timid. He is enigmatic, and you’re unsure if he wears compliments well. Though, the compliment is more towards the mountain, you suppose._

_He says nothing in return, merely glances at you before, he too, star gazes._

_Time passes, and you frown. You must be off soon. And then a thought breaches you._

_“Dragon, I am dreading the descent. Will you fly me down to my guard and horse? I’m awfully weary.” You look to him with plea in your orbs, scabby fingers wringing together in your lap. The dragon sneered, distaste in his eyes as he looked upon your weathered form._

_“You’ve had your wish, now off with you, you’re dirtying my sheets.”_

_You’re quick to hop off the bed, whimpering internally, and you glance forlornly towards the number of stairs you must descend. They seem to be taunting you now, what with their seemingly endless spiraling._

_You gulp thickly and take a deep breath, preparing your farewell. “I suppose I will see you again, dragon. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.”_

_The dragon is facing you now, after having glared at his soiled bedsheets, and he leans against the wall. “You shall see.” He studies the way your swollen feet shift. He sighs, and you do not capture his exasperated expression, for your descent has already begun._

_Though, part way through, and it is when you feel the sudden need to keen over for a breath, you are suddenly rejuvenated. Your palms tingle, and you glance at them, shocked to find the scrapes they bore earlier have since disappeared. Your skin is smooth and clean, on your hands and knees, and your feet feel as though they have been freshly healed and bathed._

_“This magic…” you smile, heart fluttering as you glance up the number of stairs to where the Roost is but a haze in darkness. This must be the dragon’s magic. Needless to say, your trek down the stairs is far from heckling. When you breach the cave mouth, you turn, a glint in your gaze._

_“Thank you, dragon.”_

That was hours ago, and though you faced another grueling trek on the mountain, when you reached the bottom, your spirits were invigorated. Jaehyun was awaiting you, asleep beside his horse, but wary of your presence as you approached. He leapt up, as if sensing you, and clamored over with a grin.

_“Welcome back, your highness.”_

The hour ride went by peacefully, and it was only when you heard the bustle of citizens with their early starts of the day when you realized what you had gotten yourself invested into.

As you finish your bath, curling within a dry linen, you think of all that you must prepare. You would abandon your glorious gowns and pack some casual wear, something befitting to that of a common woman. Some toiletries are necessary, too. Perhaps more boots, seeing as you will be doing much traveling. And currency. Coins, but only enough to get you by. It would be a tell-tale sign that you’re a royal if you’re caught with an abundance of quid.

You enter your bedroom with a squeal. “Jaehyun!”

He is mindlessly reading a book, sprawled across your bed. “Your highness,” he glances at you, unphased by your lack of dress, before continuing his reading. You release a scoff, eyeing the open balcony doors and then the door that leads out to the rest of the castle.

“I figured you’d be on duty, by now.” Hushed, you cross the floor to where Seulgi had laid out today’s wear. Donning just the bath linen, you toss the dress over your shoulder before throwing an accusatory look at the young man.

“You know, if one of the servants were to walk in here and catch you with the naked princess, you’d be guillotined and burned like a witch.”

He doesn’t spare you so much as a glance, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he turns a page. “It’ll happen when it happens,” nonchalantly, then he clamps the book shut and tosses it to the end of your bed. “When will the dragon be taking you?”

That’s right; Jaehyun is the only one who knows of your scheme. He wouldn’t take you to the mountain without the truth, and he certainly has come to learn of your habits when you lie.

The knight of the royal guard has been a dear friend since your youth. As children, you’d scuttle around the castle grounds together—he so happened to be the son of a servant, but instead of following his lineage, he trained to be part of the royal guard. The strongest cavalry regiment the kingdom has to offer. He isn’t the highest chain of command, but he’s fairly close, which is an amicable achievement for his age.

Your years together have forged a unique relationship. It is why you’re nearly nude before him, and he is phlegmatic. He is the one who helps you escape the castle when you are feeling lonely. You’ve dressed his wounds when he was stubbornly bleeding after dealing with an uprising in the town. When you felt particularly adventurous, you’d persuade him to take you to a lake just beside the castle for a midnight swim. Nudity was a bashful feat in the past, but you two have grown indifferent to seeing one another in such compromising manners.

He often scales the castle wall to accompany you on quiet nights, and the tight bond you share has led you to take solace in one another’s presence no matter the circumstance.

You are like distant siblings, or cousins, but at one moment you had wished you weren’t. Something about the idea of falling in love with him was appealing to your heart—he was as kind as he was noble. The moons came and went, but Jaehyun did not outwardly express interest in you, so your feelings faded, and with that came a bond with the boy like none other, and you trust him like none other.

“I am not aware,” you bitterly claim. “He thinks the knowledge would make the act seem unconvincing, so he ploys to surprise me.”

Jaehyun flicks dust from his breast plate. “Seems sensible to me.”

You roll your eyes, but silently agree, peering to where the drapes are being blown by the morning’s winds. You recall something. “You did not mention you were well acquainted with the dragon. You know he is a man, too?”

He’s wearing a surprised look before it is dismissed by an amused one. “Yes, well, we are not well acquainted, but we are acquainted. I befriended him during my first ascent. I was not there for a wish to be granted, but an adventure. And the dragon took a great liking to that. It seems he has more heart for those who do not have the intention to use him.”

A stab of guilt pierces your gut and you look down. So you really weren’t unlike those other daring travelers. “I hoped he would sympathize with my situation. But it seems as though he is only helping out of obligation.”

“Hm, maybe he does feel for you.” Your friend states. “I’ve never heard of an instance of him leaving his lair to help someone. And you know as well as the entirety of the kingdom that he is a being who keeps to himself.”

 _That is a notable idea._ You begin dressing, taking heed of where wounds lie so as not to disturb them. A bruise on your knee has you flinching as you pull on your stockings. You had tripped and barreled into an assortment of boulders on your way down. Not your finest moment.

“I see you picked a battle with the mountain. Did you spy any wolves?” Jaehyun is watching amusedly, and you turn to him with a scowl.

“I saw them but I was agile enough to veer from sight.”

“Ah, wonderful,” he exclaims with an excited clap of hands, “my training proves more than effective. Have you considered where you’ll venture?”

You hesitate to answer, because, yes, you did consider, but you fear your plan might sound unrealistic in his ears. “Yes; a kingdom not neighboring ours. Northern, probably. Wherever far the dragon is willing to take me. I will start anew there… Now, mind you with your watching, come help me with my britches.”

The King would’ve spat a goblet of Meade if he heard the request, but this was the norm for the couple of you. The knight sighs and removes himself from the bed. You’re barren aside from stockings, pale and thick to combat the morning chill. You step into your britches, bending to pull them up your legs, and you feel him behind you.

You stand, allowing him to complete the task of buttoning them at your lower spine. “My, my, princess, if only the kingdom was aware of how un-princess-like you are,” his voice is low in your ear, and the proximity makes you shudder as you reach for your brassiere.

“Then it’s a relief I will be their princess no longer in due time.” You smirk, situating the material over your arms before Jaehyun does the troubling task of weaving the straps in the back. Normally, it’s a job for a maid, and Seulgi probably has the intention of clothing you when she returns, but you feel as though she’s already done enough. Jaehyun is silent as he works, backing away for you to throw skirts and sleeves over your head. Finally, he tightens your corset behind you, and you watch him in the mirror.

His eyebrows knitted together. The tick of his jaw as though he is facing a troubling thought.

“I will miss you, my trusted knight.” You murmur, and he catches your gaze in the mirror before his arms circle you, fingers grasping the front of the corset to center it.

“Don’t talk as though you are a romantic poet in the city.” But he’s smiling, and you’re sure your words have reached him. You face him, bringing the linen to swab your hair.

“I am excused from breakfast. Will you stay with me?” It means you have several hours before you are to attend your daily studies, and you feel weariness drag at the lids of your eyes. Jaehyun frowns slightly, as though tempted, but he shakes his head.

“I’m afraid if I do not leave for command now, the duty leader will notice my absence. Rest easy, Y/N.” He makes for the balcony, but not before pressing his lips to the crown of your head. You send him off with a wave, closing the balcony doors before slipping into bed.

It will be a difficult farewell to bid, when you’re off in another kingdom, but you know Jaehyun well enough to know you will see him again.


	3. Chapter 3

_It’s too late,_ you think with a masked frown. Instead, your lips are pulled tight, glossed over prettily, into a warm smile. The realization brings a pain in your chest, your corset having already restricted enough air flow, and you fight keening over for a breath.  _It’s too late…_

Because at it stands, and where you stand, you overlook the celebratory pre-engagement royal ball. You are to be wed tomorrow, and your fiancé is chatting vibrantly at your side with entrepreneurs. He is a sleazy man, a prince at least twenty years your senior, with a tongue dipped in an accent too romantic to fathom nor comprehend. His head is powdered and white with false tendrils, his eyes are broody and slanted, and atop his lip is the faintest patch of a missed shave. And he dons a fine bronze suit that would look far more handsome on someone far less aged—the sleeves pulled taught at the shoulders and the buttons battling to stay put at his gut.  

He holds your palm, not tenderly, but firmly, as though he will mercilessly show you off all evening. You, who are wearing a gown so fabulous it nearly rivals your wedding attire. You, with your colorful updo, and poised figure, feet swollen in slippers that have yet to be broken in. The you who has been rooted in place for the most part of two hours as the groom-to-be brags away.

Across the room you spot your parents with the King and Queen of Tinsleton. They are laughing, the bunch of them, swinging goblets around as they rejoice in the uniting of their kingdoms. The marriage will only bring wealth to both economies—industry and horticulture galore. Opportunities will blossom for those in need. It is the farthest from a grave instance.

Ever more so, it is what your kingdom deserves, but you feel, as selfish as it may be, you are undeserving of such a twisted exchange.

Jaehyun stands across from you, wearing an exceptional coat and vest, no doubt concealing thin plates of armor underneath. You catch his eye, and he sees the way your smile is false, and he sees the way your eyes are lost in thought. He leers at you, and it is playful—it is the way Jaehyun sends his grievances; in his grin is an array of syllables,  _‘Y/N you look ravishing, this man doesn’t deserve you. He looks like the son of a bread baker and an even fatter bread baker. You can smother him in his sleep and receive his fortunes in due time.’_

You giggle quietly, directing your attention to the group around you as though you had laughed at the bald one’s poor excuse of a joke. And, oh it was poor. You must excuse yourself, for your own sanity.

Carefully, you pull at the hand enclosed around yours. It takes a few attempts to steal his attention from the business men around him, and when he finally notices you, he scowls quickly before hiding it with a grin.

“My love, yes, what is it?”

The words bring about an upset in your stomach and your eyes dart to the floor. “I-I must use the latrine… if you would allow my brief retreat… my love.” Sour in your mouth, you glance upward to count the wrinkles in his brow and the bags beneath his eyes.

His grip tightens, and falters, and he sighs, but he disguises it well. “Why, I can’t keep you from that.” He releases his hold and you relinquish the freedom. But it doesn’t last for long. “I will accompany you.”

Your eyes widen, not dismissing the way his carve over your features and bust, and you’re fast to argue, “th-there’s no need. I can manage just fine—”

“Nonsense!” He grabs the vertex of your arm and bids adieu to the entrepreneurs. He pulls you, drags you, and your battered feet comply unwillingly. You find yourself rattled, just outside the confines of the dance floor, but hidden behind a pillar in a shade of secluded darkness.

“My prince, it really is not necessary!” You try to bargain, finally wringing yourself free and sending a panicked look to Jaehyun. 

He is already braced against the wall, a battle waged in his eyes. Should he intervene?

The older man simply frowns, adding a third chin to accompany those resting against his jugular. Your failure to comply seems to burden him.

“A bitch should learn to obey a future king.” He spits, grabbing for you once more. You cannot contain your gasp, having never been spoken to in this manner. His arms wind around your waist, petite compared to his, which presses to your midriff unsettlingly. A cry tears from your throat at the sudden proximity, and you tilt away from his chest, hands pushing against him.

“B—but—”

“At least you have the finest breasts in this putrid kingdom. Tsk, you have quite a mouth on you. I cannot wait to shut those pretty lips of yours tomorrow night.” Then he’s cackling, and his hands are tightening around you. You spy a swab of spit at the corner of his cracked lips, and you shudder.

_This is not a man, but a pig… no, even pigs are more deserving than he._

You push at him awkwardly, grunting in place, but the man shows no mercy as he chuckles and gropes you. And the worst of it all is when you tear your eyes away from the sweat lining his gullet to see the ferocity swimming in those of Jaehyun. 

His eyes are narrowed, across the room, and daggers protrude from them. He kicks off the wall, a haste in his step, and makes for your direction.  _He’s going to kill him,_ you think, internal terror increasing tenfold.

In a moment, you shake your head, viciously,  _please do not come!_ He will be spared no relent if he slays the prince manhandling you—his head will be placed on a stake at the kingdom’s gates to warn all those who might think to assassinate the future king of Tinselton.

But Jaehyun sees past you, and marches forward, his grasp at his hip, where his sword lies. “Jaehyun! No!” You cry out, stamping a foot atop the prince’s boot. His grip falters, and he swears, releasing you at once. The ballroom is too abuzz to notice the commotion—the orchestra, too noisy; the royals, too drunk. You separate yourself from the man, waving for Jaehyun’s attention—he’s nearly closed in now, and then—

And then…

The mosaic in the roof has caved in. A terrible screech—a roar—and shards of glass descend from the heavens. Stricken with irreversible panic, folk flee to here and there and anywhere the danger is not. There is a blanket of terror wrapped around the guests and hosts of the ball, and you, too, are stricken with such immense fright and shock. The blackness of night consumes the room, for all candles have been doused by frost, and a gust of chill lifts your skirts. Guests scramble to evade the falling projectiles, screams tearing from their withered lungs—too spent having laughed the early evening away.

And the whistle of the wind in your ear, bounding from his powerful wings, draws a curve to your lips. Behold the beast, who decimates the castle’s ball room; whose roar clamps hands over aching heads. He is as much with the night as the night is with the stars—a lapis jewel amidst black.

_You are here!_

And his white eye glints in the shadows, piercing yours despite your loss in the crowd. All you have is a moment, the briefest instance, to spot Jaehyun tending to a fallen victim, and to throw your arms around his neck. “I will see you again,” Your breast beats against his back, and your words seem lost to the wind until he grips your palm and nods.

It is no more time until a weight finds your spine, hefty and meaty, and clamps around your waist. It is frozen and decorated with scales. Your hands seek immediate purchase on the claw, legs narrowly dodging a razor-like talon as you adjust yourself in his grasp. And Jaehyun finds your eyes, those which excitedly yet frightfully dart to and from the Dragon’s grasp, and he watches as you’re torn from your ball room; your castle; your kingdom; him.

When the castle is but a fly in the distance, the dragon’s hold weakens, and you suck in a breath. It is noisy—with the wind and the flapping of powerful wings, and you press your face to your hands. It would do no justice to fend off the cold; the dragon is one forged from ice. You study him, the best you may, as he whisks you away. His wings are a pale azure, but the horns that raise from them are made from ice. The leather-like skin is pulled taut by boney pillars of the same substance, glistening against the moon.

And his tail; it whips behind him like the string of a quivering bow. It is shielded by plates of sapphire stone—rather, larger impenetrable scales. You catch the cathedral in the distance, a grin on your cheeks.

“You are late, Dragon.”  It has been nearly three weeks since you departed from his lair, weeks which passed painstakingly slow as you bathed in anticipation.

The grip on you tightens slightly, and if you could see his eyes, you were certain they’d have rolled. Instead, he prompts you to cover your ears with a menacing roar. One which the kingdom will surely have heard. They must see you—the shadow in the moon, being carried away. Jaehyun must be watching.

_I am not late; you did not know when I would come._

You gasp.

 _By the gods! You’re in my head now?!_ You exhale with a string of laughs.  _Incredible! You certainly are a magician!_

One of his talons strikes your boot as a clear warning, and you fight back your giggles. Though your journey is at its end, seemingly. You spy the rocks of the Roost, and before your preparedness, you are deposited from quite the distance.

The free fall draws an unwarranted squeal from you, like a flying horse, and you see the image of the dragon grow smaller and smaller. _Has he just slain me?_ You bitterly think before you’re nearing impact.

You bounce atop a comfy material, familiarly silken, and your breath escapes you. As you recover, you feel the winds above you lessen, and your eyes are closed as you battle for air.

 _Not a magician,_  the voice in your head exhales. There is a bit of a whirring noise, like a cyclone caught between cliffs, and the winds die down. “But a dragon.”

When your eyes open, you greet the very naked spine of the man himself. His face is turned to the side, watching you gasp for air, and his buttocks are firmly catching the moonlight. You can’t help yourself.

“You just… wanted me in your… bed right?” You chuckle between bated breaths. The tick in his jaw is ever prominent as he reaches for a long robe from a chair. He puts it on slowly, turned away from you. Finally, after minutes, you’ve collected your wits.

“That was exhilarating! I didn’t think you’d come! The wedding was set for tomorrow and—and—oh you should have told me you can speak in my mind! So you can read my thoughts? I thought you can only read feelings? Oh, drats! I left my bag—”

You should’ve known he wouldn’t have taken kindly to your rambling.

“Do those lips never cease?”

You hush under his gaze. Fingers twiddling in your lap. You feel the faintest of tears in the material along your hip, something you’d banter with him about later, allowing the entrance of cool air on your skin. You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Dragon, I’m just…”

What are you feeling? Well, it’s many things. Something which seems to seep from your grasp. You sit there, biting back your excitement as you seek the words. Though, he finds them before you.

“Liberated? Free?”

You can only nod violently. You’re certain your fancy updo is no longer up… nor do. And your cheeks have been flushed by the wrath of cold the beast expelled.

“I am delighted to be of service.” Though his voice lacks the emotion. He swipes a palm over his eyes, seemingly drained from the task, and you feel sudden guilt.

“Are—”

He cuts in.

“Your knight met I before tonight, and he brought to me your prepared belongings.” He gestures to the corner, and a certain relief fills you upon seeing the sack. So Jaehyun knew prior to tonight that the ploy would ensue? “And princess, I will say again, I cannot read thoughts. Not in this form at least.” You look to him for more, to which he drapes himself against the back of a chair. “In my other form, I can hear yours, but only which are directed to me. Much like you can hear mine, but only the words I mean for you.”

A nod, for you understand, and you jump the ship again, “When do we leave? I was thinking we head north, several kingdoms away, where they will not know my face.” Your lip will have bled with all your biting, but you cannot refrain the joy within you. Though the Dragon frowns, his eyes casting toward the skies.

“I’m afraid not for a few days. There is a winter storm brewing. You will not survive a flight atop me in a blizzard.”

This causes you to frown, your heart stuttering, but you are quick to clear your throat. “Well that is fine… but I am to stay here?”

He nods, less enthused about the idea than you. You normally wouldn’t mind staying with the handsome man—but you have burdened him enough. He isn’t particularly fond of you either.

“Well,” you concede, “If I must. I will venture from your way, so as not to hinder you.” Resolve made, you affirm it with a soft smile. “If you would direct me to my quarters—ow!”

Your ankle gives as you make to stand from the bed. Your knee hits the stone without relent and you suck back a cry. There is a blistering pain in your foot. “Ah,” you press the swollen skin, freshly tender. “I must have landed on it.” Your dress bundles around you as you kneel, lips pulled tight.

The adrenaline that swept your veins has since dissipated, and you could only mirthfully attempt to rise to your feet before cold skin is launching you over an even colder shoulder. “Wah! Hey! Dragon, there is no need to carry me!”

You flush as he rights himself, and you cannot see his face, but his voice is muffled by your gown. “What was this about not hindering me? You’ve already wounded yourself, and now you can’t even walk. What a clumsy girl.”

You have no response as you shamefully bite your tongue, head growing dizzy from the reverse of gravity.

“I didn’t intend it…” you mumble, cheeks pillowing into a pout. The dragon hums, carrying you a ways across the room until you’re hovering above a river of cushions lining the wall.

“You didn’t intend it, yet here you are—burdening me.”

He drops you with no regard, and you flop against the thin pillows. “Wah—enough with throwing me around!” You hiss, pulling your knees to your chest. “If you’re sick of my pestering, what with my wound, why don’t you heal me again?”

The Dragon looks down his nose at you, plush lips strung into a disapproving frown. “I will waste no more of my diminishing power on you until I’ve rested and become rejuvenated… and even after that.”

You pout, tearing your eyes away. Peering down, you note that the material you sit upon is merely an abundance of sacks filled with feathers from a poor flock of birds. They remind you of the ones you’d see in the market when perusing the town.

“What, are those too peasant for you, your highness?” He scorns, his robes tickling his shins. You shake your head vigorously, patting down against the cushion. Some feathers are spat from a corner. You grin.

“Not at all; in fact, this is perfect. This is preferred. I’ve always wanted to dismiss the luxuries of my life and live like my citizens.” Doe-like eyes glance up at him, wide with glee and glazed over with naivety. It is not a response he expects, and mild shock crosses his features before he turns away and saunters to his full bed.

“If that is what you wish… sleep now, and tomorrow I will train you to hunt.”

You ponder this quizzically, enjoying the image of him situating himself beneath the sheets before saying, “I need not teaching, dragon. I can fend for myself.”

He chuckles lowly, his head laying atop pillows. At this angle you can spot the girth of his neck, his jugular strong and protruding in the moonlight. Your mouth waters at the vision.

“Princess, I mean no offense when I say these are direct orders from your Knight friend.” You gasp, betrayed.

“Jaehyun knows I can hunt!”

“Be that as it may, evidently you cannot hunt  _well,_ so tomorrow we shall endeavor into the forests and collect some prey.”

You grumble under your breath, eyes seeking the bit of blanket you’ve packed along with your belongings. You bring the hefty satchel to your chest, the clash of coins sounding from within, and you carefully stand to disrobe. With your corset, sleeves, and skirts removed, you kick off your slippers before a bellowing voice rattles your bones.

“Good heavens, woman! Have you no decency!?” you relax under the staggered gaze of the dragon from his sheets. You cannot tell if his cheeks are colored, but the idea amuses you.

“Sorry, dragon, you’ve just only shown me my bed. I’ve no clue where I bathe and—”

“Just—” He looks away, his lips pulled tight, as you peel off your stockings. “follow the orbs. They will guide you where you need to go.”

You smirk, and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Thank you,  _dragon._ ”

And so leads you to the stairs, where the orbs lining the walls light your way. Dreading the once travelled descent has you petulant. You’re nearly naked, and the temperature drops beneath the Roost, so your hobbled walk has you feeling a little more than morose. You shiver, narrowly misjudging a step with your swollen foot.  _This damn dragon lacks convenience._

And it is though your thoughts are heard when you peer to your side and spot an entire floor hovering in the air, above the abyss that leads to the cavern. The set-up is similar to that of the Roost, and you gape in awe at the sudden appearance. “Now, where were you?” You cry out to the mountain. The orbs light a path, gently swaying an inch off the floor, to the center of the room. There is a standing tub, an enclosed room possibly containing a toilet, and a pool-like cove in the floor filled with misty water.

 _Magic_ , you smile. You first make company with the mysterious pool. Stripping, you encase yourself with the water. Miraculously, it’s steaming, and it feels like heaven. The orbs that have fallen victim to the liquid merely float atop the surface at a dim hue.

It must have been several minutes when you decide to leave. You spy some bath linens beside the tub, seemingly calling out to you. As you dry, and use the toilet, you wonder if the kingdom is loathing your absence. You like to think that as princess you maintained good terms with the people. Though there wasn’t much you could do for them, and from your experience with sneaking into the town center, they aren’t particularly fond of the royals.

The less fortunate are bitter that they are trapped in peasantry while the king and queen are receiving foot baths (though this isn’t entirely what they do, in their defense). So with you, having been swept away by the feared beast of the night, are they still bitter? Do they think it is what you deserve, for being born into riches and fortunes?

This causes you to frown, and you ascend the stairs wrapped in no more than a linen to keep dry. Bumps are quick to scuttle across the surface of your skin. “I wonder if they will care that I’m gone…” you murmur as you enter the Dragon’s Roost.

A quick glance allows you to see that the bed in the center of the room is surrounded by a silent, swirling storm, much like the one shrouding the top of the mountain. You blink at it, surprising yourself by the lack of shock that the magic instills in you. You could laugh.  _I’m already accustomed to surprises, it seems._

There is no sign of the dragon—probably sleeping within his storm. So you dress yourself in a simple night gown, falling back to the feathery cushions. And you lie there, staring up at the serene night.

“Dragon, are you awake?” your voice meets the still air. Fingers grasp the blanket you’ve brought and pull it to your chin.

“I am awakened, now, thanks to your highness.” He grumbles from beyond the wall of black clouds. You finger the britches at your thighs.

“Is this storm an illusion?” You ponder aloud, and your toes furl and unfurl as you listen for him, eyes welling. There is a sigh, and a ruffle of silk.

“To all eyes but mine and those that see from within, yes.”

“And the storm above the mountain—that too?”

“Yes, princess.”

You hum after him, then grow silent. A gust of wind gently dips into the room, drawing you to tuck your nose beneath the material in hand.

“It’s magnificent.”

You can tell he’s heard you well, and he is quiet where you cannot see him. Your eyes trace the clouds wrapping around the bed and then lift to seek falling stars.

“This mountain,” he says, and you start. “is magical. It’s alive. It is where my power is strongest. Without it, I am but a mere lizard of ice.”

You smile at this.  _I can feel the life within this mass of stone._ The ground beneath you seemingly hums, a vibration that smooths the tenseness in your legs. Alas, it is when you spot a hurling white flame in the night that you find the most peace, and it is then a lone tear rolls down your pink cheek.

_Magnificent._


	4. Chapter 4

“Gods,” you huff, swiping a sheen of condensation from your brow. It’s quite cold, in the forest where you lie, but your exertion has finally drawn a mellow heat from you. At the rise of dawn, you began hunting with the dragon’s instruction. Much to your dismay, he graces you with worthy knowledge, all of which you poorly put to work. You’ve missed three separate elk. It should’ve been easy, but you weren’t accustomed to hunting in such atmosphere.

Normally, the ranges within the castle, when you’d practice with Jaehyun or shoot for sport, the grounds were sparse of trees, and you’d normally have a clear shot. However, with the thicket around you, your aim is short of accurate. Bitterly, you glare at the two deer the beast collected.  _It’s no fair… he’s probably used magic to capture them._ You tear grass from its roots. _He should use it to help me!… Well, he already did heal me again…_

He had said nothing, but when you awoke, the tender pain from your ankle the evening prior had disappeared. You wish it were easier to show your appreciation to the stoic man. You frown, plucking grass tagalongs from the bottom of your skirt.

“Woman, you’d be much better off with pants.” The voice brings a roll to your eyes, and you bite your lip, examining the scuffs against your boots.

“I have not pants, but light dresses… And a name, mind you.” You turn to give him an icy stare, but nothing quite challenges the iciness of his own.  The dragon simply leers, amused with your pout, and slinks himself against a tree. You are rooted to the Earth by exhaustion, your bum snug against a damp portion of soil, and surrounded by an ocean of trees.

True, the dress you wear is an inconvenience to your practice, but it is the most casual of what you possess. And while the dragon dons a pale gray vest, lined with a thin chest plating, pants fashioned from the toughest of steer hides, of which your eyes admire the bulk of flesh beneath them, and wondrously shined leather boots, you wear what you would normally don for an evening stroll around the courtyard.

It is the lightest material you have, and you even went without the abundance of underwear to lessen the carry, but it still burdens your maneuverability. Thus far—and it has been several hours since you were carelessly carried into the forests by a certain icy beast—you have only slain a mere wood rabbit with your bow.

You look down to the bundle of blood and fur in disdain, as though it is to blame for all your inconveniences. The dragon peels you from your thoughts.

“A name, why, wouldn’t that be Princess?” He gasps to himself, “Ah, or Your Highness?” There is a smirk at his lips, and you damn yourself for flushing at the sight. Accepting his belittlement  _and_  falling victim to his masculine charms? You truly have stooped so low.

“As of late, it is no longer.” You face frontward, ankles crossing as your arms do the same. “I am simply Y/N, for I am but a mere peasant traveler now. And what of your name? Surely you weren’t born ‘Beast of the Mountain’?”

To your surprise, he laughs, and you feel him behind you. He’s knelt, you can feel his frozen breath at the nape of your neck, and you stiffen.

“I have not a name to share; and you might be freed from the burden of ruling your kingdom, but no matter how few coins or feasts you have in your new life, you will never be freed from the pages with which your story was born,  _Princess._ ”

He backs away, and you’re stunned, for a moment or two, before your fingers are clutching firmly around your borrowed bow. Something angrily thrums in your chest, and there is a flit of movement to your left—ruffling the tall grasses. A hint of brown.

It is swift, when you fire at it. The snap of the bow wire slashing your cheek. And then there is a gust of wind, and a thump to the Earth. Mindless, you rise, crossing the forest floor and weaving between grasses. Your boots are caked with dried mud and the blades are thin and slice at your exposed arms, but you push past them. Dots of red ooze at the corner of your lip.

Song birds sing in a choir above you, their melody ringing deaf to your ears. And your fingers graze the wings of the arrow before you tug on it, once, the weapon dislodging from the fallen buck. You stare at the carcass. Blood dripping from the arrowhead and seeping from its heart. Your cheek.

You turn. Eyes seeking the dragon’s.

His are wide and his lips are loose around a mute syllable. They trace your figure with a gaze unrecognizable to you.

It could have been a minute or five when you slide the arrow across your skirt, soiling the grace with which it held, before dropping it into the quiver at your hip.

“I told you I can hunt.” You say it and yet, as your blind stupor dissipates, none are the words which ring in your mind.

_“you will never be freed from the pages with which your story was born…” Why then, dragon, did you speak it so forlornly, as though you have experienced just the same?_

The dragon’s lips close, as though he’s come to from a haze of puzzling thoughts. He frowns, his eyes narrowed. You look away, to where wild flowers are swaying in the wind. However, his cold gaze betrays the resignation in his voice.

“I will learn to doubt you less.” He pauses, eyes shifting to the heavens, as though peering through the trees and clouds. “Come, it is time to return. The storm approaches.”

He begins undressing, as he did in the morning, to shift into his alternative form. You spare your eyes, staring into the open orbs of your victim. It has already accumulated a number of flies, and you swat at them ruthlessly, digging into your pouch with a free hand. With the sound of whirring wind behind you, you tie rope around the hooves of the animal, binding it like you would a hog for supper.

_“You look foolish.”_

The voice in your head chuckles as you relent from swiping at bugs. You frown, turning to the dragon. He is massive beside the trees. You wonder if he will be able to carry all the deer. With a sling of the rabbit over your shoulder, you glance at him again. You’re tired, and while you would normally resort to a retort that would render him pestered, you sigh, quietly approaching him. You recall his words again and again,  _“you will never be freed…”,_ the pain in your heart returning, but you grow silent at his side, waiting for his signal.

It is a minute of him using his huge claws to bring the carcasses together, and he orders that you use the remainder of your rope the bind them. You do so wordlessly, motions nearly as mechanical as the pulley system that would bring buckets of water up from the well in the castle’s courtyard.

Finished, you watch as he hooks a talon beneath their conjoined binds, his wings giving a strong wave as he tests the weight. He looks at you, his icy orbs piercing yours. His lizard lips are parted and you can see the beginnings of a razor-like range of teeth. His ears, wolf-like, however scaly in nature, are pinned back, but relaxed. The blue ivory of his horns, strong and curled atop his head, glisten with moisture from the surrounding mist. This time there are no voices in your head, but you understand him well enough. You collect his abandoned clothing from behind him, stuffing them into your pack.

Then, you duck beneath him. He rises from his haunches, raising an arm for you. Subconsciously, you reach up to trace the leather-like scales of his underbelly. It looks like the stone of the mountain, but is somewhat velvety, despite the exterior of his spine and legs. It is taut, strong, and he makes a noise, stiffening. A spark flashes in your mind, and the dragon’s neck is craned as he peers down at you, something in his gaze urging you into his awaiting claw.

When you’re in the air, you can tell the storm is near. It is the end of winter, but this is a new chill. It seeps into your boots, tracing your legs like a stream, and you curse not having worn any underwear, your bottom and breasts littered with cold bumps. You shiver in the icy grasp of the beast, a huff expelling from your tinted cheeks.

Suddenly his hold tightens on you, and you can feel the acceleration of wind pick up. He powerfully surges into the sky, faster than before, and you eye the collection of deer that swing from the talon of his back leg.

Weary, you hardly notice you’ve already reached the top of the mountain, and the dragon dips into the illusive cloud of lightning and shade before hovering over the expanse of revealed roof. He kicks, gently, the carcasses collapsing into the shadows of the Roost, a faint crunch of bones echoing from within. You swallow lightly, preparing for a fall. But, instead, you are facing a much more favorable gravity as the dragon adjusts you in his claw, allowing your legs to dangle.

You don’t battle him, in your dreariness, but you do release a sound of protest. And then he’s lowering you, his wings slowing the descent. You enter the Roost and he releases his hold when you’re a foot from the ground.

Standing, you peer up at him, curious as to how the hole in the Roost will aid you during the storm. You turn away as the dragon shifts. Using the time to unbind the bucks with a sharpened dagger you found atop the dining table.

“My clothes?” He asks, and you steer your eyes from his vision as you point to where you deposited your pack, alongside the battered rabbit.

It is silent as he changes, and when he says he’s decent, you still fiddle with the animals, tossing the dagger to the side whence the binds are sliced.

“Shall we have lunch?” There is a hesitant lilt to his voice, something on the cliff of unease and unsure, and it causes you to pause. Finally, you look at him.

He’s so damn handsome, under the onslaught of the midday sun and the Roost’s shadows. You sigh, shifting on your feet as you confirm a look of uncertainty swimming in his orbs. He does not wear the gaze well, you think, for you are far more accustomed to the cynical, stoic, lack of expression he dons far more often.

You can only hum and nod, awkwardly rubbing away the bumps on your arms. A fog leaves your lips when you breath.

The dragon swallows thickly, to your lack of response. “I’ll start a fire… I know you would much rather have your meat cooked.”

You nod after him, moving to descend the stairs. Ideally, you would like to warm up in the hot bath.

And stay in there for hours and hours until your mind is clear and collected.

Your thoughts are tired and, yet, abuzz with doubts and insecurities the dragon’s words have spurred.  _To him it must have been a mere tease, a jest… why have his words affected me so? Was this decision a mistake? Am I never to shed my past and begin anew?_

His voice hits you, “Wait. Y/N,” and you cease your movement, standing still and shackled with shock. It was deep, a murmur, and you’d heard it, and you’re uncertain if he wanted you to, but you turn slowly and meet the glisten of his icy eyes.

“What is it?” your syllables are strung with curiosity, and a wave of excitement tickles your stomach as realization dawns upon you.  _He called me by my name._

But you push these feelings aside, not allowing yourself to forget the reason behind your stupor. Watching him struggle with emoting is amusing, too. His lips are quirked at the corner, a tiny crater forming near his chin. And his eyebrows knit together, like drawn drapes. And his eyes behold a certain softness—one that is foreign and pries a gape from you.

“Your cheek.” He starts. He looks away quickly, the shadow of the Roost casting over his eyes. “You’re still bleeding.”

Fingers deftly raise to a brazen cheek, touching the skin gently before you realize the blood has actually iced over. Like a trickle of glaze, it stops at your jaw. You’re surprised you didn’t notice before, but it sticks undesirably to your skin.

You frown, unfurling your sleeve from your elbow to swipe at it, but the dragon stalks forward.

“Stop.” He voices, deep and resounding. “you’ll get dirt in it.” Your heart stops as he grips your chin in his large hand, the skin cold but warm, and abuzz with electricity. Your toes clench within your boots as you suck in a breath, breathing in his scent, his being. He smells of the very forest you just arrived from, but cleaner—like a bush of mint overlooking a spring. And the tiny stitches binding the material of his vest; they glisten like the silver of a knight’s sword. Something you did not notice before, before he entered your proximity and towered before you with shielded eyes and cheekbones.

Awe, in your gaze, for you cannot control it, as you are suddenly alight with energy in his grasp. The fingers that hold your face in place sprawl to the underside of your jaw, the median of tenderly and firmly, and heat warms your cheeks. Slowly, surely, he smooths a thumb over the split in your skin. 

You gasp as the tingly sensation breaches, the wound tightening until it is but a whisper of a scar gracing your features, sure to fade in days or years. He stands there, as though surveying his work, before he stiffens once again, like a plank, and suddenly drops his hands. You cannot see his face with the lighting, and he turns away, making for the bundle of carcasses in the corner.

“Go bathe. I will prepare the food.” And he’s back to his coldness, the shift in his front so dramatic it actually expels a gasp from you. You gobble up your words confusion and thrill and embarrassment overtaking you, thanking him silently, before pivoting on your heel.

As you make for your descent, you’re stopped again by his voice. And it is cold. But it is also warm, and inviting, and it makes you sigh at the sound of it.

“Johnny,” 

You hover at the stairs. Listening for him. There’s a sound of breaking bones. And a pause. “I was not born with it, but it was gifted to I.” He resumes his dismemberment of the animal, surely bloodying the stone of the Roost. But you think not of this, and instead of the precious words from his plump lips.

“Johnny…” you whisper, the taste so simple yet compelling on your tongue. You say nothing else as you place this information in your heart, which leaps with every step and every recitation of his name in your mind.

 _Johnny the Dragon,_ you giggle. The name is unbefitting of the cold man, but the notion you have it is notion enough that he’s opening up to you. The gesture brings a flurry to your chest as you bath in the warmth of the pool.

“It feels as though he is far more than he displays.” You murmur to the walls, finger trailing up your thigh. You smile, because as a winter storm brews, and as you lie within the confines of the icy mountain,  _I feel alive and warm_. The mountain hums around you, and the water steams. 

_Because of him._


	5. Chapter 5

It had been an early concern of yours—the hole in the Roost. You’d freeze to death atop the mountain, what with the winter storm, as you were completely exposed to the harsh forthcomings of the climate. But you should have known not to fret; as you had returned to the Roost that fateful noon after hunting and bathing, the orbs politely guiding you, you discovered the expanse of open sky had been completely sealed with seamless stone.

Marveling, you twirled around, searching for a ridge in the smooth sapphire that would perhaps suggest the rock had been replaced by the hand of the large beast. However, it deemed that was not the case; the ceiling now perfectly concaves into the sky, jade orbs decorating the roundness of it and illuminating the Roost in a way the moon did not.

Gently, you caress the walls—mysteriously, they feel a lot warmer these hours, as the snow bombards the cliffs. It’d be an instant death if you were to confront mother nature’s onslaught head on, so the recent days have been spent within the Roost and fellow magically appearing quarters. There are several, you discovered. While the dragon had disappeared one morning, you wandered around the mountain in search of occupation.

It wasn’t unpleasant spending your days rooted in the very top chamber, but you were quite sick of repeating tasks like unnecessary cleaning and tailoring damaged garb. Quite bored and having enough with swimming in the steaming pool of the bath room, you ventured farther down the stairs, curiosity in your mind and eyes.

You hadn’t been to the bottom cavern since your very first visit, something about the ominous, dripping maze drawing you in as much as it deterred you. The heart of the mountain lies within the cave, and you’ve yet to see it—adventuring deemed to be a suitable passage of time.

 _Strange,_ you had thought upon descending past the floating bath quarter. You recalled that the deeper you go, the colder the embrace of the air. Condensation had played at your brow upon your first visit, and yet, there was no chill as you endeavored deeper and deeper. It was warm, like the Roost, and the air comfortably enveloped you.

It encouraged you to seek farther. And you, just halfway down the stairs, happened upon another newly appeared chamber. Yet, it seemed to bear dimensions that went beyond the length of the mountain. Like a corridor in the castle, open and bright and long and inviting, you stepped within it and graced your gaze to the number of bookcases that lined the walkway.

Awestruck, your vision fumbled to grasp all that you sought to see, the vivid colors of the book covers under a pale baby blue hue. The orbs in this room were larger, and stationary. They remained at the hat of the shelves, providing light for any and all words read.

Your fingers laced at the base of your spine as you explored the lengthy hall, in between the two rows of cases and not daring to step within the threshold of one until you saw all. Your feet barren against a plush of white carpet.

Finally meeting the end of the way, you spotted an area of lounge chairs and sofas, all of which were sat before an endlessly flickering ball of cerulean flame. You could feel the heat on your cheeks, so hot it was nearly cold—or perhaps so cold it was nearly burning.

You approached it, watching it thrive, and then pivoted, directing your attention to the books of a near case. Carefully, your fingers thumbed the covers, and you pried a book from its home, where specks of dust sprang like a herd of sheep evading a hungry wolf.

The text on the front was not written in a tongue you understand, but you realized, upon flipping through the book, you needed not words, but rather youthful eyes and imagination. It seemed to be a children’s picture book, hand drawn to scribble the tales of a young girl and her forest friends.

You were so captured by the scripture and ink that you hardly caught the vision of a passing dragon. Or a passing Johnny. You had smirked. Invigorated with the knowledge of his name.

He wordlessly strode by, his eyes narrowed as his thoughts ran seemingly deep. He was dressed in a simple tan vest and matching pants, his boots padding along the carpet quickly, though begrudgingly. You positioned yourself away from view as he rounded a book case and sat atop a plump sofa, just before the fire. He wore a troubled expression, and you quietly returned the picture book to its place between others. You stood there, observing him.

It was news to you that he was unaware of your presence, and you imagined he was as consumed by his thoughts as the fireplace was consumed by flame.

The blue was striking against his features, complimenting the wondrous structures of his face like oft the moon does.

He spoke.

 _“Your power is relentless even in this storm.”_ He ran his fingers over his eyes—a tired gesture. His voice, deep and smooth, emanated in your ears and chest.  _“I suppose you’ve always been the more gifted one.”_  He paused, staring into the flame. His hand dropped to his lap.  _“And kinder, what with all these luxuries.”_

You shifted on your feet, cheeks tinting as you overheard words arguably not meant for you.  _But for whom?_

And then you turned away, aiming to sneak from the corridor of literacy and make for the spiraled stairs, but your shoe caught against a corner of stone. A huff left your lips as your footing scrambled. You lunged into a bookshelf, a jumble of pattering following suit. The books remained stationary, thank the gods, and you were grateful for not wrecking complete havoc—you exhaled—but your presence was then revealed. A screech of protesting wood followed your weight.

“Uh,” you blinked at him—he was staring, unreadably expressed, and you felt yourself grow warm. “Sorry, it’s my first time in here. I was exploring but—ah, I’m sorry for overhearing… I’ll just leave no—”

“Come sit.”

You nearly collapsed. Questions emitted from your being and you cocked your head after him. He simply studied you and then turned away, his lashes casting spider leg-like tendrils across his cheek.

“Are you daft Princess, or did I speak in the wrong tongue?”

You nearly scoffed. _He must be able to read me like these damn books._

So you gobbled up your words, shamefully, and crossed the carpet to sit across from him. You sank into the cushions of the sofa before him, and they hugged you gently, your eyes seeking the whites of his, which were then doused in flickering blue flame.

Seconds lapsed into minutes, and you found yourself calm and relaxed. His very presence was before unnerving to you, though, through the days, you discovered it was preferable to share a room with him rather no one.

You sighed. Crossing your legs, your simple skirt bunching up at the knees. Something dwelling on your mind.

“You may ask,” He spoke quietly, his eyes fixated on the fireplace. “I know it is what you wish to do.” Small dust particles danced in the air around him, his figure glowing gradients of emerald and azure—there were orbs circulating the space above you, illuminating the lounge area with little intensity.

You swallowed a croak in your throat, leaning back against the cushion. Eyes on him. “Who were you talking to?”

Crisping wood and crackling fire sounded in the midst of the following silence. The dragon appeared hesitant to answer, and you soon became certain he wouldn’t. Until he did.

“My brother,” and then he was looking at you, with a pain in his eyes that brought wetness to yours. “My dead brother.”

_Although he isn’t truly dead,_ you think, eyeing the ball of storm rotating around the bed in the center of the Roost. It was three days ago in that glorious library when the dragon let you in. When he told you the contents stored deep within his cold heart. Now is the late eve before you depart. The storm will die at dawn, and the dragon will fly you far north where your face will be lost within a crowd.

You tuck your chin beneath a blanket you found on your makeshift cot one noon. It smells of mint and warms your toes.

_“My dead brother… and though his spirit lives within the heart of the mountain, his body was slain into non-existence.”_

_You bite your lip, your heart clenching at the never before heard drag of the man’s syllables. His eyes bear the in between of pain and unconquerable anger. You wish for him to carry on, but your tongue is stiff. What dare you say?_

_“Two centuries ago,” his fists clench against his pant leg, “my three brothers and I were created at the hands of a masterful wizard. Infused with immeasurable power, he forged us with the properties of nature—ice, water, earth,” And bitterly, after a pause, “fire.”_

_The blue flames flicker._

_“He raised us as humans, and named us like them, until we were of age to transform. Then we were trained to fight for the kingdom, whom the wizard was loyal to. Many battles were fought—kingdoms conquered, lands stolen. Countless people… slain.” Johnny blinks, and a sudden urge to console him surges within you. And you are motionless. Because you know you have not what he needs. He continues._

_“We were raised as humans, but morals were beyond us. And through the bloodshed, we were confronted by feelings so obscure and baffling, that some of us were hesitant to continue fighting. My brother, called Mark, the water dragon, refused to take any more lives. He challenged the kingdom’s orders, the wizard’s, and I was right by his side. We knew the reason we fought was not reason enough to kill. But my other brothers challenged us._

_“They called us cowards, and unworthy of our powers. Finally, they grew frustrated with our lack of compliance.”_

_He turns to you. Eyes burning with agony._

_“The fire dragon killed Mark, in a fit of enragement. He transformed and ripped his body to shreds.”_

_Your heart breaks, and you shiver under the weight of his gaze. A tear rolls down your cheek. You have no time to say anything, if you could, for he faces away again, his expression falling flat._

_“The wizard, who raised us as his kin, managed to capture my fallen brother’s soul. He trapped it within a magical stone and buried it atop a hill. Livid, the wizard prepared to sever the existence of my ill-minded brother. Though the two, earth and fire, with their formidable powers, obliterated him. After he was no more, I fled from them.”_

_Voice tinged with despair._

_“Here, is the tomb of the water dragon’s soul. I forged this mass of rock to protect him, and to hide myself. And while he is but a simple essence within a stone, his powers thrive within the walls of my mountain. He is the life around us, and far more powerful than I, even in his death. I truly am unworthy and cowardly.”_

Restless, you stand from your small cot. Eyes trained on the ominous swirl of black clouds and silent lightning. You approach it, standing at the foot of the bed, but you cannot see in.

Your toes are cold against the ground. Your fingers wring together at your front. An exhale is drawn from you.

“Are you awake,” You hesitate, “Johnny?”

It takes a slow moment, but a gentle rustle of silk sounds from the other side of the storm wall, though he is silent. You wait time before turning away. And then the low hum of whirring behind you ceases, and you’re forced to look back.

The dragon watches you as you plant your feet, your eyes glazed and mind muddled with thoughts of the nights prior. He’s sitting with his back against the head board, a sturdy dark oak that matches the four posters standing like pillars at each corner.

His eyes are not narrowed, as they tend to be, and he does not scrutinize you, as he tends to. Yours catch the movement of his feet beneath the black silk.

“Restless?”

You peer up again, pupils fixing on the corner of his lip, slightly downturned, and then you capture the moons that are his eyes. With the ceiling still sealed, the only light illuminating his handsome features comes from the pale lapis orbs that float in place around the Roost.

You swallow thickly, words failing you as you nod. Instead, you see the empty space at his side. He does not sleep in the middle of the mattress.

“May I join you?” Your inquiry is quiet, shy, and sudden. It came from your heart rather your mind, and once you realize what you said, you become overwhelmed with shame.

But if Johnny is taken aback, he doesn’t reveal it. Rather, he seems tired—his eyes slanted and misty, his lips plump and cheeks rounded.

He only blinks after you before he nods. And you are baffled by his agreeance.

No words are furthered exchanged, and he observes you expectantly as you carefully round the posters to his other side. Your fingers graze the silk—he watches the motion—and you numbly peel back the sheets and lean into the bed. You feel the dip of his weight as yours joins his, the cushion at your rear hugging your curves and you sink into the feel of it with a sigh.

His cold warmth—that unfathomable temperature emanating from his being—penetrates your near arm and leg, and you’re still at least a foot apart when you tuck yourself entirely underneath the silk sheet.

He’s still watching you.

You watch him too.

After moments, Johnny slinks onto his spine, joining you beneath the covers. His head is close to yours, and you face him on your side.

Then, his expression contorts—but it’s so subtle, you hardly notice. “I’m conflicted—I cannot understand your emotions.” His delicious lips part as his moons trace your soft, pretty features. You rest your temple against a pillow as you stare. You had never noticed the freckle on his left cheek before now.

“I do not know what I am feeling.” You admit. Your ankles cross near the foot of the bed, and his eyes flash before he finally turns away, facing the stone sky. Though, before you possess control, your palm darts out—clasping his chilled cheek and bringing his vision to yours once more.

Your lip is caught betwixt teeth, and you feel your brows knit. His skin is electric against yours, and you can tell he’s felt that spark too. A decision is made, and it is not your mind filtering your tongue, but your very fragile, human soul.

“You’re wrong to say that your brother is dead,” there is a mist in your eyes and his widen by a fraction. Your thumb catches his lip. “He is very much alive and here, and he loves you so, so much. I can feel it. So please stop thinking yourself unworthy and cowardly. He would never wish you to burden yourself with these false entities.”

Your heart is  _thrum, thrum,_ thrumming in your chest, wild and frantic, but your expression is calm and your mind is at ease. For an instant, you wonder if these were the words he wanted to hear, but you’re soon answered by a hand clasping the palm at his cheek. His temperature seemingly rises as he looks to you. His large fingers encompass yours so easily—and he’s gentle when he squeezes them.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He smiles, and you suck in a breath.

It’s so beautiful—his lips stretched across his cheeks like a sunset playing the horizon of a canvas. You grin after him, unable to stand strong against the sight and the glory filling you. But something else inside you is igniting, and you find yourself embarking into dangerous territory. Like with Jaehyun, when you were younger and more susceptible to charm and romance. When you were excited for love and welcoming of it even from your closest childhood friend.

It brings a standstill to your hammering heart, and your smile falters.  _But I am leaving him tomorrow. No, now is not the time to fall in…_

_…_

Ear-shattering.

…

That is how you would describe the crash against the stone of the Roost. Immediately, the outside world is piercing your skin, a biting chill that leaves you gasping as you’re thrown from the bed on impact. Then, it is a blast of sweltering heat that tears a cry from your throat as your head smashes against the ground. Amidst the roar of flames and crumbling stone, you hear Johnny call out for you, and you desperately collect yourself at the side of the bed.

It would be destruction that consumes the mountain peak—the vibrant amber flames that circle you, the rubble that threatens to split over your form. As it happens, your senses return to you, and you are clutching your bloodied head with a vision of haze. There is a gaping hole in the Roost, right where the long table lies. Though now it is battered and broken to a state of unrecognition.

You are whimpering, from a pain the adrenaline is shrouding (for now), and your thoughts are but a flurry of questions.

You see the form of Johnny, his stance strong and braced against the winds. Shock and perhaps anger has his fists clenched and his breathing labored.

And then, in the night of the sky, you see it; the silhouette of blood and wings and flames. A dragon, in the light of the moon.

Massive, it hangs in the air, eyeing the form of the man challenging its presence, before its gaze shifts to yours—those glowing golden orbs that cause your stomach to drop. Its lips curl to reveal a range of deadly teeth, just waiting to have you in their grasp, and you battle a scream of terror.

It releases a horrid screech before surging into the opening of the Roost, more flames emitting from its fiery breath. The skin of your feet boils, and you hardly register the pain before you’re releasing a cry.

Johnny turns to you, his eyes white—whiter than ever before. They flash under the illumination of the blue orbs and moon, and his jaw sets firmly. You know that stance.  _Will… he transform?_

And there is blood on your hands, so you let your head fall to the ground. Watching him approach the beast.

“Johnny—” you can barely utter. The red dragon seems indifferent to his challenge, and with a lightning-like speed, he’s whipping his tail around and smacking the man into another dimension. A wall, really, but the impact has you cringing, and you can already see the bones unnaturally protruding from Johnny’s chest. He’s gasping out, his eyes seeking your cowered form. “Y—N,” his lips are poisoned with red, and you wish to tend to him, but your vision is failing you and your eyelids grow heavier. It is but the mere weight of your night dress that anchors you down.

A fade to black, and you’re blanketed by darkness.  _This is a nightmare. It must be. I will awaken beside Johnny and traverse to another land in the morning._

The ground vibrates dully around you as you are clamped in the spiny claws of the red beast. Nearly lifeless, you dangle from its grasp. Billows of wind sweep your hair around you like a vortex, but you are unnoticing of this, your ears barely catching the passing words of your new captor and the ice dragon.

“Taeyong—no!” Johnny becomes wrecked by a fit of coughs, and your eyes clench to see him as much as your heart clenches to be with him. Suddenly, as you’re carried from the Roost, hovering by the hand and powerful wings of the fire dragon, an eerie chuckle sounds in your thoughts.

_Long time no see, brother._

You have only enough energy to spot the image of a damaged man against a wall and the crumbling of stones above him. And then you’re being surged into the night sky, consumed by unconsciousness, withered with blisters and burns—Johnny desperately calling for you, and the mountain trembling and wailing in your wake.


	6. Chapter 6

There are three main notices as you first wake. Firstly, it feels as though your head has split into two—remnants of blood have since dried and crusted over your temple. You blearily turn yourself over, your spine pinching in protest as you briefly note the cracking of flames and melodious humming that provide background noise. 

Secondly, you come to realize that you’re naked, atop a ground so warm it makes you question the presence of a geyser billowing beneath it. As you rotate, your rear removes itself with a suction-like pop. Sweat lines the innards of your thighs and most private of regions. Inwardly, you grimace; outwardly, you groan. 

Which brings you to your third observation; you’re not alone—the mentioned melodic humming ceases.

Your small gesticulation of disapproval seems to have captured the attention of a figure across the room. You can barely see him, amidst the greenery; it hangs from the tall ceiling in various mosses, the walls painted with streaks of vines growing without direction. The room itself is not large, but spherical, reminding you of the Roost. While there are no ominous floating orbs here, there is an opening in the ceiling, a radiance of direct sunlight pouring in and possibly bringing color to your skin, if not for the shelter of leaves surrounding you.

You blink against the blinding light, carefully bringing yourself to a sitting position—ankles crossed with knees bent to the chest.

Your toes brush against grains of scattered dirt, and you peer down to see that surrounding your small island of heated stone is an abundance of soil and grass. The blades shift in a wind that does not meet your skin, as your hair sticks grossly to your neck.

While there is still a dull ache rocking against your skull, you come to your senses enough to seek the figure in the corner again. He had resumed his humming—a low tone that brings a shiver to your bones—and sat in a wicker chair, woven and laced with ribbon-like twigs and detailed with a populous of tiny leaves.

However, his very aura has them slowly burning to a crisp. Like a wave meeting sands, crystals of ignition course over the greens, and horrified, you watch as embers surround him—his presence as smoldering as the gaze he offers you.

There’s a steaming mug in his hands, filled to the brim with a substance you cannot fathom, and he brings it to his lips, studying you as he sips. Though you cannot help doing the same; his features are sharp; strong; warrior-like. His tufts of voluptuous hair fall over his brows like a cascade of crimson water. The hollows of his eyes are filled with dark circles, like smudges of coal smeared to enhance the natural malice of his orbs. And if Johnny’s resembled those of moons, his are but yellow suns.

Those of which are seemingly narrowed with natural grace. Slanted, they observe you over the obsidian mug, and you take the time to wander down his throat, a pale range of protruding veins and jugular. He dons a crisp charcoal vest and slick, silk pants, but his chest is barren and lean underneath. Alas, the feet he taps atop the grasses display a fine maroon leather, and with every quake of the soles, the greenery beneath is clapped with a spark of flame. You frown, your eyes dancing along the brown stains of what had been a lush of green.

You glance up.

“Who are—?”

Your voice is stricken with remnants of smoke, strain, and dehydration; you nearly choke on your syllables. You did not recognize the man, but you did the flame. It suddenly comes back to you—the crumbling of rock; the exasperated calls of Johnny; the cries of the mountain.

You bite your lip, and your breaths become staggered. Holding your knees tighter, you glower upon the man with an emotion brimming between positive ferocity and absolute hatred. “Taeyong.”

The fire dragon’s knuckles meet his thigh as he smirks. “So, the princess does remember?”

His voice is both gravelly and silvery—gruff, but smooth. Not entirely unlike his ice brother, whose voice brings immediate warmth to your ears. Though the fire dragon’s does not entice you, rather, it shadows you with apprehension; the curl of his syllables ring with malevolence, leaving icy whispers in its wake.

You swallow, but do not allow yourself to crumble under the heft of his evil. “I do. I remember when you destroyed the mountain and nearly murdered Johnny.”

“Johnny?” He laughs, whistles, springing from the chair and damn nearly dropping his mug. You flinch, and he just  _loves_ when you bristle with unease, his grin enveloping his cheeks and glinting against the overhead sun. His eyes brighten, excitedly, “You must be very familiar with my baby brother.”

And then he’s approaching you, and when he’s close, he’s kneeling before you, his features smoothening until there’s just a simple leer where once was a frightening range of teeth.  “Tell me, little princess, what else did he inform you?”

You cannot battle a nervous gulp as you compare his size to yours. He doesn’t tower over you as Johnny would, at your side, but he dwarfs you nonetheless. It is the lankiness of his shadow that consumes yours, and you eye his exposed collarbone, condemning yourself to a life of damnation for admiring the smooth expanse of it.

You shake yourself free of his domineering radiance, instead, thrusting your chest forward with a false confidence; chin poised. “That you are evil—wrongful in slaying your maker and brother.” You feel your eyes harden and narrow, heat radiating from his being unto yours. You feel angry for Mark and angrier for Johnny, who had suffered so long and so hard after the loss of the water dragon. The blisters on your feet pop against strayed pebbles. “You must be so acclimated with flame, for you are rightfully deserving of those in the pits of hell.” And you glower, teeth clenched.

But the fire dragon is only amused, his hair playfully tossing to the side as he cocks his head. “Wow, a curt princess? I see why he took a liking to you,” His fingers capture your chin and his nose is aligned with yours in a sudden movement. You bite back a snarl, his skin sweltering. It’s then that his expression, while excited and child-like, dulls for a moment, and his voice lowers.

“He is no liar; neither am I.” Your cheeks burn, and his eyes become a mellow gold. “I did what I had to do.”

_“I did what I had to do.”_

He turns away from you, releasing his grasp, and you glare at the back of his ruby bed of hair. “So, it was out of obligation that you killed Mark,” you release a breath that comes off as more of a sigh. The heat is really getting to your head, and you blink yourself free of a hazy spell.

Though instead of sending you a crooked grin with a blood-lusting gaze, the fire dragon merely stiffens in his stance, his head turned to the side. You can see the bridge of his nose and the contours of his cheek. And he isn’t looking at you, but there are daggers in his view.

“If you were to make one mistake, princess, it would be mentioning that name.” It is his cold tone that leaves you sucking in a breath; cold, so unlike the playful jest of his words beforehand. The mere blaze of his revealed eye brings terror to your heart. Alas, you succumb to his presence, his authoritarian aura.  _He will surely kill me if I do not._

And then he relaxes, and his menacing smile returns as he tosses a glance over his shoulder before returning to where he had deposited the mug earlier. The greens crisp in his wake.

It must be after moments when, while he’s quenching a thirst and while you’re calming yourself in the aftermath of his fiery warning, he faces you again. The mug has since been revamped with heat and expels steam like a hot spring. He holds is coolly at his lips when he speaks.

“The earth dragon heckled me for bruising you, so my deepest apologies, princess.” And yet there is no consolation in his voice, but the mention of the other dragon has you suddenly more engaged. Taeyong continues after a dramatic pause. “He left for ingredients to concoct a balm that will quicken the pace of your healing.”

“You can’t heal me with magic?” Is what you find yourself saying, eyebrow raised in surprise. If Johnny could do it, and the fire dragon is said to be stronger, then why is he lacking the ability?

Instead of cracking a sardonic whip, the man quirks his lips in almost a pout-like manner. His fingers impatiently drum against the clay of his mug. “Of all the glory I’ve been blessed with by our maker, I was not drafted for aid, but for war.”

The notion, as obvious as it should have been, still brings a frown to mar your cheeks. You want to ask him about what happened with Mark. You want to ask him why there was, through the drift and clamor of anger burning in his gaze, a trace a regret upon speaking of the fallen brother. You want to ask him why it feels as though you are missing an entire fragment of the story.

But you do not, because he is reading your emotions—he has that look in his eyes that Johnny gets when he’s analyzing your atmosphere. His are downturned, wary, as though he suspects you to cross the line again. You swallow, thumbing your nude knees.

“Where are my clothes?” and better yet, “Why have you taken me?”

The dragon relaxes, taking a hearty sip of substance. Then, he leans against the back of the chair, side-eyeing you with a smirk. Coy. Devilish. He crosses his ankles and allows for his gaze to roam.

“True; I did not have the honor of disrobing you. Though I so very much wish I did.” He chuckles and you can only bite your tongue. His bangs swish as he throws his head back, his suns idly staring up at the one encompassing the ceiling. “The earth dragon tended to your wounds before your wake, and your clothes were soiled with burns. I’ll send for him to arrive with fresh ones; he’s just arrived.”

Suddenly, the conversation is over, your second question going unanswered. And you do not dare to belittle the man again, maintaining silence as you watch him. The fire dragon throws back what was remaining in his clay before his palm becomes a riveting hue of flame, and the material melts between his fingers and settles like wax into the soil. He looks at it indifferently, as though he does not mind that his very presence in this room has destroyed life. This is befitting of him, you bemuse.

Not another word is exchanged before he is embarking from the room through a cave-like entrance in the stone. You cannot see past the shadows that consume the hall, but given you hear his feet echoing away, you assume it’s a corridor that leads to another quarter of…  _whatever this place is._

You glance around again. While it is similar to the Roost with its stone and shape, it does not feel as though you are atop a mountain. Rather, it feels like you’re close to the earth. The musical sound of birds soaring high is shamefully absent, and you can hear the nearly unrecognizable crash of waves against shore. It dawns upon you that you must be  _very far_ from your kingdom. From your Roost. From Johnny. For there are no oceans form where you hail.

The sun above must be an illusion, or a power to provide growth for the plants and grasses, for you see, as you wince past the burning radiance, a sliver of night.  _This room reminds me of the castle’s green house._

And you lie back against the heated mineral, in that moment, feeling incredibly lonesome. You’d rather a swirling storm of black clouds and lightning than a sun. You’d rather an icy bed of rock rather sweltering stone. A frown pinches your cheeks. You’d rather a cold dragon than a fiery one—a million times over.

And as your spine grows slick with moisture, and your thighs part with a sickly sweat, you think about him. He was broken when you last saw him, his bones cracked and exposed. Defeat sliding over his features.

 _He would not come for me,_ you assure yourself.  _I should not be hopeful. He has no reason to come for me._

And while he was unable to conclude his end of the deal, he did his part in removing you from the castle. And here you are, in unfamiliar lands—just not at his hand. Your wish has been granted and fulfilled.

_He will not come for me._

It is then that the harrowing echo of footsteps approaches from the hall. Your eyes dart to the opening, and the shadow of a man is just barely noticeable. But his eyes; they are green and lush with expertise and knowledge. They are calm, collected, and bright—unlike the yellow rage of the fire dragon’s and the white despair drowning in the ice dragon’s.

You see his eyes before you see the rest of him, and he is already peering your way. When the sun basks over his being, the greenery erupts with life—all that was destroyed by the wake of the fire dragon replenishes in his new presence.

Standing before you, with a bundle of cloth in the crook of his elbow and a medicinal pouch clinging to his belt, is an unfamiliar young man. And he’s handsomely smiling, though without malice.

“Hello, princess,” a tone light and cheerful, as his magnificent eyes swallow you. “I am the earth dragon,”

Your lips are parted because—what a drastic change from flame to earth! And his smile grows at your internal stipulation. He approaches, kneeling before you and smelling of oak and moss, and your expression is as puzzled as your mind is muddled. He looks on, amused, and his voice rings peaceful to your ears once more.

“But you may call me Winwin.”


	7. Chapter 7

He had dressed the wounds decorating your feet and temple, spreading a salve over the marred skin before binding the areas with cloth. Now, donning a simple tunic-style top with a casual skirt, you’re sentenced to a chamber with a cot and a promise of return with breakfast. Sleep found you for a few hours, but you wake before the sun bristling with anxiety, curious as to how long you’ve been gone from the Roost.

It could have been days and you wouldn’t have known. A single window allows for minimal light, large, but not large enough to sidle into. And the walls are a smooth but dull gray clay, and you wonder, with the fire dragon’s flame, could he so easily melt the room with you in it? Could he take your life so maliciously that your very body becomes wax-like amidst the smoldering material?

You sit up, your spine pressed against a wall, and adjust the cloth on your head.  The earth dragon’s balm brings about a buzzing sensation to your injuries. It was applied before you were led to the simple room, soothing with a gentle sting. The stinging has since dimmed, but there’s still an unnatural feeling in its place, like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

You study your feet, shrouded with wraps, and find the courage to peek underneath. Using nimble fingers, you separate the material from the ankle of one foot, a hiss leaving your lips as loose skin peels away and follows in your wake. There isn’t as much pain as there is shock when you discover nearly all the skin of your foot peels clean off, and panic swarms you until you notice that there is a healthy, fresh layer underneath. As soon as the dressing is removed, you marvel, grossly, at the shedding in the shape of your appendage. Then you toss it to the side, a gentle slap against the stone of the chamber, and wiggle your freed toes.

The skin is pink and soft, as though you had scrubbed it viciously during a bath. It must be a foreign healing power the earth dragon beholds.

You do the same for your other foot but decide against the dressing on your head. Perhaps they will pity you if they see what damages they have caused. The thought leaves you scoffing.  _There’s no doubt they’d be indifferent to causing pain._

As soon as you lie back into the uncomfortable cot, a sigh on your tongue, there are timid knocks against the door. It’s the homiest part of the room, a mere wooden slab fixed in place with hinges and nails. You blink at it. Kidnappers who bother to warn of their inevitable entry?  _How generous._

After a moment, the knob turns, and you’re surprised to witness that it hadn’t been locked in the first place. As if they trust you not to make an escape. That, or they know full well you’re not stupid enough to attempt one.

You lean against the wall again, assuming your knees to your chest, eyeing the abandoned foot dressings on the floor as the figure consumes the door frame.

“Good; you’re awake.” The earth dragon smiles and you can barely capture it in the field of your vision. “I brought food.” That has you glancing his way. Your stomach rumbles, like an angry bear defending its meat. You silently curse.  _It feels as though ages have passed since last I ate._ Alas, you’re suddenly famished.

The dragon smiles kindly your way. He shares no resemblance to the others, and with the little rays of early sun peeking in, you can see that he’s wearing a tunic much like yours. It’s an earthy green, but darker than his eyes. The eyes that are not large, but almond-like, that sit beneath quizzically arched brows. His nose is long, thin, sharp—and yet soft. Like the curves of his cheeks; his features are not angular, nor round. With skin not so fair, rather a warm tan, and cushiony small lips, you find that the earth dragon is not a harsh sight on your eyes.

And his presence is comfortable—he is not intimidating, like his fiery brother, but inviting. His eyes display a knowledge that rivals that of the kingdom’s most domineering scholars, and yet they are bright with curiosity, as though there is an endless yearn to learn. His head of hair is about the length of Taeyong’s but it beds a dark auburn instead of a river of crimson locks.

It sways as he approaches, his feet bare and softly padding across the stone; his hands encumbered by a tray of ceramics.

You’re still as you watch him. Defty, he kneels, and his eyes spot your discarded foot bindings immediately. “Oh, has it worked? Let me see.”

You obey without a word, unfolding your legs as the man places the tray to the side. He carefully holds your feet against a raised knee, examining them with pursed lips. His temperature is warm, unlike the iciness of Johnny’s and swelter of Taeyong’s. Somewhere inside you ponders if Mark would’ve been the in-between of ice and earth—cool and tepid all at once.

“Oh, very nice; you’ve healed quite fast.”

“Thanks to your salve,” you sigh as he unknowingly works a knot in your heel with a thumb. This has him smiling, and he pats your feet gently before backing away.

“Us dragons heal very quickly, if not killed instantly. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to treat a human’s wounds. Taeyong informed me of your injuries, and I saw that even I was lacking in my botany supply,” He stirs a steaming chowder with a spoon and you think of Johnny’s dastardly injuries. “I had ventured far to a forest of my past, where I knew to find the necessary ingredients. It did not take long to concoct a suitable balm, and I’m happy it worked.”

Surprise fills you when he brings a full spoon to your lips. He’s close, and the proximity flusters you—but not in a pleasant way. You miss Johnny.

“Please; eat. It will make you stronger.” Your eyes meet his, which brim with an edge of curiosity and wonder. Your fingers itch to grasp the spoon and feed yourself, but with every second of eye contact, you find yourself crumbling under your resolve.

You part your lips for him, and he wastes no time in laving the spoon of chowder beyond your teeth. It’s hot, granted, but tolerable. The saltiness strikes your tongue and pierces your starvation immediately, and then you’re gripping at his hand and fighting for the spoon. Winwin merely laughs as he releases the poor utensil and watches you lean over for the remainder of the bowl. You didn’t realize you were so hungry until your first taste.

When you finish, you flush—he had been analyzing you this whole time. Carnivorous and animal-like, you had indulged right before him, and you look away in shame, empty bowl and spoon clattering to your lap.

“Was that enough to sate you, or would you like more, princess?” He asks softly after moments, and you shake your head tiredly. The sun is now illuminating the whole room, and you can see the man lean against the same wall as you a little ways down. Something weighs on your mind.

“Your brother did not answer me; I asked why you’ve taken me.” Why they captured you when you were finally free. Why they stole you away from Johnny and the mountain. Why they’ve taken your new life before it even began. “Please tell me.” There is indubitable plea in your eyes as you lean towards him, your fingers cinched together.

You see trouble swimming in his jades, and his brows are pinched as though facing an internal warfare.  _Please._

Winwin releases a sigh; defeat. You can tell he’s caved when he swipes a palm over his cheek. “I was not meant to tell you this, yet, but my brother and I are strung to this northern kingdom as we four dragons were long ago.”

He’s talking about the kingdom the wizard worked for—the kingdom the dragons were sworn to fight for. You listen in, keenly.

“This kingdom is failing, for the late king has passed with no suitable heir to the crown. The Queen came to us for assistance, with the mind that we possess a magic that will aid the lands. The crops are failing, the peasants are growing poorer, citizens are dying in the streets with no ruler to lend a helping hand.”

He pauses and fixes the crinkles of his loose pants.

“But, alas, it was the wizard who possessed the magic. We can only conjure slight illusions, like the sun in the garden. But the wizard was slain at my brother’s hand—though I’m sure you know that much.” You do, and yet, it puzzles you… Johnny has the power to heal you; he has magic. You experienced it yourself. This is something you do not mention, however, for you fear what the knowledge could spur if the other dragons withheld it.

You say nothing, and then Winwin knocks his head against the wall.

“Taeyong proposed an idea to the Queen. Rumors of a royal engagement had whispered through kingdoms. He told the Queen that because we, as warriors, had been a part of protecting this kingdom for so long, we are equivalent to royalty and deserve to rule the land. He travelled south, to where the rumored engagement would tie two nations, with the intention of persuading the parents of an unwedded Princess for her hand.”

Your eyes widen.  _No, it couldn’t be…_

“He was present the night of the engagement ball, and before he could speak to the King and Queen…” there’s a lilt in his voice as though he’s already aware you’ve caught on. “an ice dragon destroyed the ball room and kidnapped their beloved Princess Y/N.”

You gasp, but you already knew this is how the tale would endeavor. Hearing it, though, reassuring it… it brings shock into your bones.

“Taeyong wanted to marry me to save your kingdom?”

Winwin nods, and he finally meets your eye. “We knew that the riches of our kingdoms would provide for what the other lacks. The compatibility is impeccable, and our kingdom would give more than that pesky Tinsleton.” He sneers, and you would have been amused if not for the jolt of emotions running through you. And he continues. “Though it would not be just Taeyong as your husband, but I, too.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “You too?”

He nods, his hair falling into his eyes. “It would ensure the distribution of leadership in both lands. I could remain here, maintaining my kingdom, while Taeyong could rule yours when the reign of your King and Queen is over.”

As if you couldn’t be more surprised. It takes a few moments of replaying his words and mulling over the unspoken details before you’re wondering, “Then why take me after I’ve left? Why come after me when I have already planned a life away from royalties with the help of the ice dragon?”

It is then that Winwin chuckles to himself, a dark tone that strays from his usual gentleness. “We had no idea it was schemed. For all we knew, Johnny had become a senile, kidnapping old man. We had not an idea of his intentions as, long ago, he severed the telepathic ties we share.” You do not catch on, and he witnesses this well. “It is how us brothers would speak and locate one another. When Johnny departed after the water dragon’s death, he built a wall in his mind that prevented us from entering.”

Winwin pointedly knocks his knuckles against the area above his temple. “We could not determine where he went and we could not communicate with him… though, when Taeyong happened to bear witness to the talk of the town—the talk of the horrible dragon who nests atop the tall, stormy mountain—he knew it was fateful to intervene, since we’ve finally found him.”

“And if you were to ‘rescue’ me from the ice dragon…”

“Then it would be easier to convince your parents that it is their best interest to marry us three, rather you and that unworthy old man.” He finishes, his eyes fleeting from yours. You cannot determine if he opposes or supports the idea. It almost seems as though he is indifferent, and only obliging by his brother’s wishes.

Silence brews around you and there’s a frown tugging at your lips.

“But now you know that it was all schemed, that I was not in danger, and I am undesiring of this life, this responsibility—”

“Yes, as was discovered when my brother saw you bedding with the ice dragon.”

For the first time since you’ve met, Winwin’s expression is hard. He almost bites out the words, menace seeping into his syllables, and you’re left to imagine that you should not be so comfortable with him. He had seemed so different from his blood-lustful brother, that you had almost forgotten this very man beside you assisted in the eternal banishment of the water dragon and the wizard who gave the brothers life.

Your heart beat quickens, and you try to control your fear as you speak. “We… we were not bedding…that was the first time… we were talking—” You’re cut off by the glare of his magnificent green orbs. They’re shadowed.

Green; envious; jealous.

_This man actually wants me._

You miss Johnny dearly, and yearn for him more than ever in that moment.

Though the darkness disappears as soon as it arrived, and Winwin releases a breath before he is standing. He dusts off his pants before collecting your discarded utensils and bowl, which he gently pries from the wrinkles of your skirt.

You observe him carefully, maintaining a calm expression; he shouldn’t learn of your fear.

“I will be back soon. Read, if you wish, from the shelf over there,” your eyes do not follow his pointing finger, but his foot falls as he nears the doorway.

He’s in the frame when you finally ask, “Where is Taeyong?”

You had yet to see him since that confrontation in the garden the eve prior. Your heart is telling you that is for the better.

Winwin pauses, barely turning to you before his eyes are closing, and his chin is raised. His brows knit, for a moment, and it appears almost as though he is searching for something in his thoughts.

Then, his orbs pierce yours, and he offers a small smile.

“He is just now arriving to your kingdom to forge a deal with the King and Queen.”

You blanch, and he says no more before closing the door behind him, a wailing creak in its wake.

_Johnny has powers—but the other brothers do not, and they are unaware of his._

_Taeyong and Winwin wish to marry me to save their kingdom, and Taeyong is gone for the day._

_…It is my fault Johnny has been found and Mark’s mountain has been destroyed._

These are the three sentences you mull over for the next hour. Your eyes are blankly scanning the open pages of a random book, and while you tried to pass the time by reading, you are swamped with a shroud of guilt.

_None of this would have happened if I had assumed my responsibility of being a Princess and married that damn Tinselton fool._

The book clamps together with a heavy thud before you launch it across the room, a cry of frustration expelling from your lips. You palm your cheeks, numbly tearing the dressing from your temple before throwing, that too, after the book.

It floats gingerly to the stone.

You sigh. Annoyed.

Then you stand, renewed with a foreign vigor to leave the room. You pad across the way, eyeing the doorknob as though it might disappear at any moment.

Your skirt swishes across your ankles; your hair shines against the slight radiance emitting from the window.

Winwin did not lock it, again, and you turn the knob carefully. Then it hits you.  _Taeyong is gone for the day._

You stand in the doorway. An ominous hum of draft trailing from the end of the dark hallway.  _I can escape._

It is either that or die unhappy with two wedding rings on your left hand. The latter is less desirable than the former. You choose the former.

Energized by the idea and the chowder from earlier, you mindlessly dart down the hall, and you haven’t a clue where you’re going.  _Winwin said he would return soon… I haven’t much time._

This fuels you to go faster, and yet, to tread quieter. If you’re caught, they would have no choice but to shackle you down in demand for your compliance.

You run, quick and silent, your breath coming out in tiny pants. Your fingers are balled tightly in anticipation and even more so in determination. Your soft feet carelessly smacking against the paved stone and surely becoming scuffed with dirt.

Teeth gritted as you persevere through a floor of the castle.

And it is a castle, you determine, because you find yourself in a glorious corridor that strikingly resembles that of your old home.

You hide behind a column, heeding the hall warily. Mere moments pass, your breath caught, view free of any passerby, and you continue, your feet grooming a lush expanse of red carpet. The air here is just as warm as it had been in the garden and your holding room, but nonetheless, you can say you despise the sight and feel. Yes, you’d much rather bask in the natural glory of the Roost with a certain ice dragon at your side.

_Stop; he’s not coming. You cannot go back to him._

And try as you might, you can’t convince yourself to stray from thoughts of him.

It’s minutes after when panic finds you and digs a hole into your chest.  _I have no idea where I’m going! There hasn’t been a window nor door in ages!_

And by the gods! You nearly squeal with excitement. When you round a corner, you spot a behemoth of a door—windows lining the exterior of it and displaying a vastness of rock and greenery. Sweat kisses your neck and you waste no time in approaching it, paying no mind to the figure sitting in the corner of the entry room.

The moment you clutch desperately at the handle is the same moment he clears his throat, and you freeze in an instant.

_Just my luck._

When you turn, slowly, you take in the sight of an amused Winwin. He’s sat cross-legged atop a leather sofa, a fire pit soaring behind him. You gulp thickly, deterred by his expression; his lips are pulled tight but excitement glints in his beautiful jade eyes.

“Hello, princess.” He remarks calmly.

Bashful, you step away from the door.

“Winwin,” you murmur, chin nearly pressed to your collar. You can’t look at him as he stands and approaches, his foot falls slow and steady. When he’s in front of you, and you can smell the brisk of forest and earthiness of moss on him, he pinches your chin and forces your gazes to meet.

“You’re trying to escape,” he frowns, but his eyes are still sparkling with…  _something._

“I’m sorry—” is what you say, but you know that will get you nowhere, “I just… I can’t be here. I don’t belong here.”

At this, the brightness of his eyes lessens. “With us? You would rather go back to the ice dragon?”

 _Green; envious; jealous_.

An idea sparks in your mind like an ignition of flame.

“No, not him.” You step closer to the man, and he is surprised by your assertation, his hand dropping promptly. “I can’t be with Taeyong either. He treats me wrongfully. He hurts me,” there is a false edge to your words and you can only hope the intelligent man falls victim to gullibility just this once. You were never shy with contact, and you have to thank your close friendship with Jaehyun for that, so it is but merely nothing when you slide your palm over his endowed chest. He flinches, and something flashes behind his eyes before he studies you more.

_He can read my emotions like the others. I must convince him that my words ring true._

“Winwin, you have been so kind and thoughtful…” your fingers dance lower, breaching the center of his ribs. He feels sturdy and lean, but you haven’t the mind to admire him now. “If I wish to be with you, would you be willing to share me with your brother?”

You can almost hear the gears turning, hear the flames churning from the pit, and you bite your lip in anticipation, and his gaze is bleeding into yours.

Your palm finally meets its destination, and he sucks in a breath. You cannot battle your surprise when he grabs your wrist, encouraging the touch against his member. The cloth of his pants is loose, but after moments of gently cupping him and offering slight strokes, they tighten to an extent where you can outline the muscle of his thighs.

And this whole time, his eyes bore into yours—seeping less of intellect and more of  _pure hunger_. “No, I would not.” His voice is low, and without another word, he grabs your other hand before slamming your wrists above your head, his mouth at your neck.

You cry out, in shock and–damn you—pleasure.  _He is your enemy, this is a ruse, he is your enemy, this is a ruse, he is your—_

“Ah! Winwin!” You exclaim as he lifts your body from the slab and carries you to the sofa he once sat. You fall onto it without grace, collecting your bearings as he situates himself between your legs, his hips grinding against yours. And as disgusted as you are, your moans are genuine. 

_I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—_

“My name sounds miraculous on your lips, Y/N… You wouldn’t dare say my brother’s like that, right?” You hastily shake your head, your hair whipping around you as he glares from his place at your chest.

“N-No, only yours!”

_He must be believing—he must be!_

And so you take his brutal mouthy assault on your clothed chest, but he’s damn nearly torn your skirt to shreds. He admires your nude region with glowing, excited eyes—he’s a changed man compared to the one who’d carefully dressed your wounds.

“It took everything in me not to ravish you when Taeyong brought you…” he cups your core and you squirm in place, willing yourself to take what you must to receive the results you desire. 

“And to think… I was ready to give him to you too… Thank you for choosing me, princess—I will take you somewhere far from here,” he pants out like an animal in heat, “and I will be by your side. Not him.”

_Yes, yes! And now, when the fire dragon arrives, they will quarrel, and their entire scheme will have been for naught. I just have to hold out until—_

“What’s this, couldn’t wait to deflower the princess on the night of the wedding?”

Your blood runs cold. The warmth of the man before you ceases as he stills, and he raises, shielding you from the eyes of the fire dragon.

“You’re early, brother.”

Taeyong giggles, wickedly, and runs a hand through his fiery hair. “It didn’t take long to persuade the King and Queen to wed us. Something you would have known if you hadn’t blocked out your thoughts.” He muses, trying to peer around the earth dragon. “Which is undoubtedly why you hadn’t a clue I arrived… seeing as you started the celebration without me.”

Then he’s sighing, mockery on his tongue, “I’m offended, brother—you know that we were inclined to share the princess, and yet, here you are… making a mess of her on your own.”

“She does not desire you.” Winwin is quick to counter, and your heart thrums in your chest. It dawns upon you that your plan still might work. With your legs spread and nether region exposed, you suck in a breath, steeling your resolve.

“Please get him out of here. I need you.” A whisper.

You see that he’s heard, and you see that he’s heard well; his fists clench and annoyance ticks in his jaw. He stares down his elder brother.

“Leave, Taeyong.”

And at this, the fiery headed dragon scoffs. “What, you can’t possibly see that’s she’s manipulating you? The wench is but a seductress disguised as royalty!” 

He approaches—you can see the swish of his locks—and he rounds Winwin quickly. A hand shoots out to grab your wrist. “She wants us to bicker. She desires neither of us… not yet, at least.” Taeyong tugs your arm until you’re perched over the edge of the sofa, your rump in the air, and a whine of protest leaves your lips.

You eye Winwin.  _Please… please let this work._ A feeling of dread washes over you as it appears he’s been convinced.

_Please._

“No,” the earth dragon growls, grabbing your other wrist and tugging you against his chest. “You’re wrong.”

His hands wrap protectively over your exposure, and you thank the gods above that he’s believed you. Although, one glance at Taeyong has you reeling.

_He’s going to kill him._

A fire is ablaze in his eyes and the temperature shifts around you. If Winwin is the igneous rock that bears the slight warmth of the eruption, Taeyong is the molten magma that consumes it.

“If that be so, then I must do away with you as I did our baby brother.”

You gasp, but nothing can prepare you for what happens next.

No flames, no embers, but a familiar crash of glass and stone. Ice and wind. You’re thrown back onto the sofa, nude in all your shameless glory, as the other men hold their ground, shock consuming their beings as they shield themselves from the onslaught of cold.

A terrifyingly familiar roar, and you smile just as you had that fateful night at the ball.  _You’re late, dragon._

Alas, he dwarfs the room, crawling through the entrance he’s made so carelessly. His sapphire scales glimmer against the sun and his white eyes dart around the room until he sees where you lie and where your mind’s voice is heard.

Naked before him, in between his most hated enemies, you can only watch on as fury consumes his orbs until they are clouded with white rage.

And so is the time the ice dragon has come for you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I KNOW THAT IS CHICKEN NOODLE SOUP NOT CHOWDER my goD
> 
> JUST PRETEND IT IS
> 
> also wow
> 
> winwin has really just been an over-protective rage boi all along? who woulda known?
> 
> my apologies if the light smut triggered anyone; i want to emphasize it WAS NOT FORCED… reader kinda liked it even though it was just a ploy (I hope that got across in the chapter).


	8. Chapter 8

It is riveting—the whispers of ice sinking into your bones. And your hair, matted with disarray, finally flows free in the wind. Frost at your cheeks, your lips, and the lids of your eyes. You sink into the cushion, head thrown back as delicious euphoria overtakes you. You’re floating, and it’s so delightfully cold.

_Cold, cold, cold._

There are voices in your head, and you can barely pick them out.

_“How did you find us?”_

_“Our link is no longer severed—I’m surprised you didn’t realize.”_

_“Damn you, I shall do away with you as well!”_

A familiar whirl of wind, and suddenly you’re back in the entry hall; back in the present; back in the battle.

A horrifying roar has you opening your eyes, those which are consumed with a film-like haze, yet those which still seek the beasts before you.

The furnishings have either been crushed to shambles or been thrown to the opposing wall with ineffable force. You have to scramble from your sofa before a meaty, red claw obliterates it with one step.

A yelp escapes you and adrenaline fuels you forward. Forward, you crawl, your remnants of clothing barely making purchase on your shoulders. The firepit beckons you, but you see past that, burying yourself into a dark corner just in time to see the fire dragon lurch from his haunches into the sky—into the ice dragon.

“Johnny!” though your cries don’t reach him as he takes the hit, the massive beasts colliding in the open ceiling. A terrible rumble of shifting stone brings your knees to your chest as you watch snapping jaws and striking claws; a battle of red and blue; of flame and ice. Soon enough, they’re tumbling from the castle walls, and you can only hear their battle cries.

Apprehension consumes you. You believe in him. You believe in Johnny.

And it is as though you forget the other presence in the room until he is enveloped by a green tornado of smog. Frantically, you search for him in the smoke,  _no, please! Winwin!_

If the Earth dragon joins the battle, it would be an immediate one-sided victory.  _Two against one._

“Winwin!” You cry out, leaping from the corner as the fog dissipates, and in its wake remains a stunning marvel of jade scales and brilliant emerald eyes. His body shakes, like that of a dog’s after a rain, dust from the wreckage showering from above. You call for him again, and pain stabs your heart as you hear distant screeching.  _Please be not my ice dragon…_

Finally, the green beast turns to you, and you can see the shock in his eyes, glistening against the orange fireplace, almost as though he’s forgotten about you too. “Please don’t go!” Your knees almost buckle in desperation as you approach him. Confident he’s still trapped under your spell, you cling to his foreleg, tears dwelling in your orbs. “Please don’t leave me—I don’t want to be alone!”  _I wish that you not fight alongside fire, and not war with my ice._

He still holds his earthy scent, and his scales dig into your arms as you ruthlessly squeeze him. While Johnny’s has glacial wings encrusted with icicles and frost, and Taeyong’s veins run with merciless rivers of fire, Winwin’s dragon is comprised of stone and vines—his legs and belly smooth and tough, and his spine and wings formidable like a mountain itself. Roots branch over the leather of his wings, lined with permanent pebbles and mosses, and his horns are curled with an arrangement of lengthy florals—vivid in pastels that bring color to the dull room.

_“Y/N…”_

His neck cranes and his snout dips to you. The proximity of his teeth, pulled back in a natural snarl, has you anxious, but you refuse to let go.

“Please Winwin…” You risk a hand against his chin, fingers shaking against the gradient of greens. You swallow thickly, a shallow attempt to calm your nerves when another roar echoes from the outside word. “Please don’t leave me.”  _Please let that not have been Johnny._

Emotions swirl in his glorious orbs as he studies you and your touch. Then he draws back, and you take an unconscious step away.  _“Okay, princess. I won’t leave you.”_

You breath a sigh of relief, until—

_“I will bring you with me.”_

And you haven’t enough time to respond before you’re squirming in the gentle grasp of the giant. You bite back your squeals as he rights you in his grip, his nose pointed skyward as he shifts his weight back. Tucked to his breast, you can barely see the towering sail of his wings—like sails at sea—before they are surging him into the sun. Dewy and warm, he permeates you, and the sun of the day kisses your cheeks—or rather strikes them because you’d much rather ice gracing your features.

Your eyes squint against the intense light, and you cup your hands over your ears. While the sea is beneath you as you rise from a low cliff, waves crash into the shore. The castle is magnificent and powerful, but it is not the sight you seek. Instead, when your vision adjusts, you scan the waves, and the rocks peeking from the water.

Frowning, you spy the sky, and another monstrous bellow sounds from beyond the clouds. You can barely see them—they weave in and out of the white thicket, turning and lashing at one another without relent. They are but small figures from what you can see, and the speed of Winwin’s flight only tears you farther away, but you tell well enough.

Red trails blue, and you can only suck in a single, shaky breath before red envelopes blue with interminable flame.

The following roar brings tears to your eyes.

And while the clouds are swallowed by fire, and his blue is shrouded with an inferno, you call out for him.

“Johnny! No!”

A formidable squeeze constricts your sides as Winwin reaffirms his grasp on you—you had nearly kicked yourself free. Naked and bloody in his grasp—his shard-like scales piercing your most frantically moving parts—you whimper for the ice dragon.

The fiery blaze evanesces into smoke, and then air, and you capture the shimmer of blue—only it is plummeting to the sea. His wings glisten—moistened and melting—and they thrash around him as he silently free falls.

“Johnny!” A scream, so hoarse in your throat, and then you’re thrashing along with him. Your eyes, battered with an onslaught of despair, tear away from the sight and search the neck of the green beast, who only troubles with holding you closer. “Winwin please!” You beg, fingers threading around his claws, “please, you have to help him!”

Sobs rack your chest, and you’re crying against him, his scales stabbing your cheeks—but you can’t care. “Please! He’s your brother! He’s going to die like Mark—!”

Growling, a noise that vibrates against your spine, and then he’s squeezing you until you’re choking on air. Air, and it surges around your face as you’re suddenly whipped backward, the sound of sails catching the wind resounding from above.

And it’s almost as though you’re falling, it seems.

But you’re not—you thought you were, but you’re not—because Winwin is holding you close, and you feel his radiating warmth seep into your skin.

The line where the sky meets the sea, the abundance of milky clouds, the faint darkness and curve of a distant moon—it is what you register when you’re suddenly whirling around and giving into gravity. And then with a velocity that brings your heart to the pit of your stomach, you’re launching into the opposite direction.

A whistle sounds in your ears, and your eyes are no match to the wind. Hastily, you blink, hands cupping your head to keep it upright, and you can barely catch the glimpse of the ice dragon righting himself just before the sea, and the fire dragon barreling right after him.

It all happens so fast—Winwin rockets above the water, his speed forcing a curve into the shallow depth, white ripples in his wake, and releases a roar before there is an impact you cannot see coming. It pries you from his grasp, and you’re skidding along the surface, like a skipping stone. The water slices you, but it is a pain hardly noticeable as you find yourself ages away from the dueling beasts.

An eruption of shrieks and snarls and clashing teeth sound from afar, but blackness is here with you now, if only for a moment, before you find the strength to battle the cramps of your legs and the ache of your breathless lungs. It is mere luck that the waters are shallow enough to stand, your shoulders just breaching the surface as you gasp for air.

“J-Johnny—” you search for him, and your vision is spotty, and you tremendously doubt you will survive much more of a toll on your mere human body today. You were not made for these speeds, these fights. And alas, you are grunting and battling on, towards the sapphire beast who rights himself in the shallow depths and seeks the horizon. Searching for something. 

And then he sees you, and gods, you can almost spot the relief in his white eyes before it is replaced with an absolute determination. He struggles for a moment and then clamors against the waves, using his tail and wings to propel him. The visual is breathtaking.

He looks weary, but he powers on, bounding towards you as though his existence depends on it.

 _“Y/N,”_ his voice is low in your head; tired. He slows as he approaches, and you kick against the current sucking you farther from him.   _“Are you okay?”_

You can only nod, liberated, as you close the distance, the surrounding water becoming colder and refreshing against your wounds. You embrace his foreleg, your hair sticking to your neck and back.

“I’ve missed you,” You sob into his scales—which are not scalding like Taeyong’s, nor jagged like Winwin’s, but, rather, smooth and comforting to your brazen skin. He says nothing in return, but you can feel him—the shift in his aura. Something warm and gentle in your heart. You’re certain he’d be smiling if you could see him.

You suddenly recall the vision of him falling to the sea after Taeyong’s attack.

“I was so worried. Your wounds… Are you—”

_“I’ve healed.”_

_Healed? So soon? But—_ you spot something, glistening aquamarine and unfamiliar, buried into his chest,  _what’s th—?_

And it is then that your thoughts are interrupted by those which are not yours.

_“Dare you defy me?! Your duty is at my side, brother!”_

Johnny’s wings surround you protectively, and he nudges you into his claws and out of the water. You stare through the slot between his wings at the two dragons facing off in the skies. Winwin’s gentle voice rings out.

 _“Is it my duty to let you kill another one of us? To let you kill Johnny as you did Mark?”_ There is pain in his words, and they sound so clear and near, but the beasts are far above, hovering in place with strong, steady flaps. You wonder if they know you can hear. Or if they mind at all.

Taeyong releases a sound, but it lacks menace—far more is it a resounding whine. One that brings a clench to your heart. You grasp Johnny closer.

_“I did not want to kill him! I had to—”_

_“It was not necessary! He wanted us to stop our treacherous ways! And we should’ve–I can’t live like this any longer! He was merely in your way, and you disposed of him!”_

Taeyong suddenly lurches forward, his mouth parted as though his beast would do the talking for him, but instead of words, he spews syllables of fire. Winwin cannot retaliate quick enough and succumbs to the burn with a howl. His wings catch the brute of the attack, and he flails rapidly, tearing free from the flames. You cringe, tuning out the whimpers of the man inside and the sizzling of his flesh.

 _“You…You did not have to kill Mark.”_ Winwin pants, barely able to hold his weight in the air. Taeyong darts at him again, but the earth dragon drops, narrowly dodging the onslaught of teeth. You can barely spy it, but there’s an unfamiliar hue brewing in his neck, and it is then you realize you have not seen the earth dragon’s flame.

 _It is not a flame…_ you gasp, watching the jade of his gullet glow orange from within. With Taeyong above him, Winwin releases a guttural before his jaw unlatches and he’s projecting a river of molten lava into the belly of the other beast. Like rock, it immediately hardens, dragging the fire dragon towards the sea.

Taeyong roars. The sound causes you to wince, and you feel Johnny stiffen around you. As though determining whether or not he intervene. “Johnny—”

_“Don’t worry.”_

He says nothing more before removing the shields that are his wings and then placing you atop his head. You scramble for the soft spot of his neck, fingering the ice of his horns as you balance yourself. Your fingertips freeze. You can only hold him tighter as you watch on.

Taeyong manages to catch himself before the water, and he’s flying after Winwin again.  _“Need I remind you that you killed our creator?”_ He snarls, whipping around easily despite the added weight on his abdomen.

Winwin dips out of the way,  _“He was going to kill you!”_ Another dodge, and his voice becomes riddled with sadness _. “I didn’t want to lose you too!”_

At this, Taeyong falters. He ceases his attack, his eyes pinned on his brother. His brother, who barely manages to keep himself up after his fiery attacks. The leather of his wings has melted significantly, leaving a harrowing shower of blood in their wake.

And his face, reptilian and pained, is filled with an unfamiliar desperation.

You’re certain Winwin has spurred something within his brother, and subtle relief fills your bloodstream. Johnny takes the moment to bring himself into the air, his powerful wings gracing the surface of water as his scales glisten against the sun. You grip at him tighter, your naked body falling victim to his chilly wrath, but you welcome it without regard.

It seems as though it has been settled—no lives are taken, the brothers have spoken their hearts, the battle is over—and it is time to go. But nothing can prepare you for the anguished voice in your head that has you whipping around with a gasp.

_“Taeyong, no!”_

The fire dragon’s eyes are ablaze and set on you.

_“If we do not have her, our kingdom will fail!”_

He’s right on Johnny’s tail, wrenching it back with his teeth until the ice dragon releases a cry and you’re thrown off into the water again. This time, though, you land directly on your back—a harrowing slap following suite. You cannot breathe, and the water is deeper here. It swallows you up, and you drift lower and lower.

Lower and lower.

Sand dances along the ridge of your spine. Your head presses back against a reef. You’re choking on nothing and everything at once—the water fills your lungs. And yet, you cannot move; paralyzed by the impact.

And it is here where the water is clear enough for you to see ruby red swirling above you, with sapphire in its clutches. And it is here where you see jade sweep in between the jewels.

It is here where jade takes the bite meant for sapphire.

And he drops.

He sinks above you, like a massive ship meeting its final destination at the ocean’s floor. You can barely register the bubbles drawing from your lips before you’re closing your eyes. Accepting.

Drowned and crushed by a dragon.

You would have laughed at the absurdity, but you’re already unconscious.

Death is cold, but it’s not the cold that you like.

It seeps into your toes and fingers, dipping into your bloodstream, until it’s wrapping around your heart, and it’s burrowing into your skull.

Your lungs are already numb, and your eye sockets feel empty.

But you can still see the shifting of light through them. And then you can feel the pain and struggle as your lungs expand. And your skull—your head is throbbing, but the cold vanishes. Your heart contracts, warmth in your chest, and your fingertips and toes curl again and again.

Your eyes shoot open.

You are in water, but you are not under water.

Suddenly, rejuvenated, you can breath. You take long, hefty breaths, and it’s as though every little or large pain you’ve ever had is gone like the wind. Winded, you inhale dramatically, but there is no salt on your lips.

No water in your lungs.

And there’s only one thing on your mind as you capture the sight of the aquamarine stone imbedded into the chest of the ice dragon.

_Mark._

You smile, and the shield of water gently pops. You fall gracefully into the ocean again—you had been risen from the ocean floor—your wounds healed and heart free of trouble.  _Mark has had the healing magic all along…_

And you can only think as much before you see Johnny drop from the sky into the shallower water. He was not forced in by some formidable offense. More so, it seems as though he is resistant to fighting. Taeyong wearily flaps above him, the rock on his abdomen dragging him further down than before, and you wonder what would happen if he would meet the ocean.

Voices swim inside your head again.

 _“I did not wish to be so selfish… I did not wish to kill them…”_ A voice so vulnerable, you gasp. Freshly energized by Mark’s powers, you dive forward, into shallower seas. All the while listening.

 _“But you were. And you did. Both of our brothers are now gone.”_ Johnny is calm, collected, and you pause to watch his marvelous eyes soften at his sibling.  

Taeyong continues his flapping, though it is with a lack of perseverance. With a heavy weight of surrender. And sadness.

 _“I… Mark… He healed you,”_ A question with no mark, because he had already discovered the answer.

_“Yes. His soul still lives on.”_

_“Can he save Winwin?”_  A plea so soft it brings tears to your eyes. The water is at your shoulders again, tiny waves breaking against your chin.

Johnny does not respond. His horns catch the sun. His head bows forward.

Your mind is silent for the next few moments, and you tear your eyes away from where the earth dragon had fallen.

Taeyong sighs.

He begins a staggered ascent, his wings barely carrying him up. Johnny looks up in curiosity, but then a dark feeling hits your mind, and your stomach drops. He knows what is about to occur.

You can take a guess.

Your ears find the echo of his ragged pants as he battles weariness. Taeyong flies above deeper water and keeps going and going until he’s merely a ruby speck in the distance. Far off the shoreline.

Johnny’s head remains bowed, eyes tracing the sands beneath him.

A wrench in your heart.

The flame brother turns to you—and you can hardly see it, but you know he’s facing you—with his glowing eyes.

Gulls call overhead. Waves crash against the rocks. Wind sweeps past your head.

_“I’m sorry.”_

And under the weight of his sadness and the rock embedded to his chest, the fire dragon drops into the welcoming grasp of water. 


	9. Chapter 9

You wish to rest. To relish in a cool bath. To be cleansed of salts and sands—and yet you are here, standing in them. You look to the horizon, where the sun is threatening its descent. Here, the sky is not a burnt hue overlooking pastures and forests. It is a pastel apricot that kisses the sea. The noon’s clouds have since dispersed, and the dusk’s stars are barely luminescent.

It is a beautiful sunset with which to bury a soul.

You bend yourself against a boulder on the beach, your nudity but a whisper in the cabinets of your mind. Your thoughts are elsewhere, and elsewhere is where Johnny drags a green dragon from the bottom of the ocean. He grimaces as he struggles with the weight, but soon enough the other beast is sprawled across the sands before you. A shield of water surrounding him.

When Johnny backs away, resting on his haunches as he observes his fallen brother, the bubble pops, and the liquid rushes down the skins and stones of the dragon and seeps into the under sands. Now you can see him without a liquid haze. He breathes wearily, but the fatal wound in his neck vanishes under your seeking eyes. You blink after it. Rivers of blood have been rinsed away and the raised, tarnished skin is smoothed over.

_Magic._

Winwin’s belly rises idly before spasming, and his long neck twists as his head turns over. Something equating that of a monstrous string of coughs echoes from his gullet. Johnny doesn’t leave his side all the while, the stone in his chest glistening against the overhead rays. You see droplets of water ice over on his wings. There is a certain calmness and patience in his eyes that has you picking at his thoughts. But he’s quiet in your head, so you can only sigh and blink away weariness. Your eyes briefly catching the pocket of sea where Taeyong bid his farewell.

 _“Wh—”_ You glance back, diving into the glowing orbs of the earth dragon. They are swimming with confusion, and you muster enough strength to rise to your feet, a sway in your step as you resist wobbling.  _“What happened? How am I here?”_ He continues, his voice anxious in your head.

You deem not yourself to be worthy of explaining, so you peer to your ice dragon. He is silent, watching his brother recoup. Waiting for something.

Waiting for him to remember.

And it’s as though the gust of wind slicing through the beach has brought forth the remedies to his confusion. Winwin’s eyes bulge and he’s suddenly craning his neck towards the sea, easing his way into a sitting position.

You cannot hear his thoughts after that. Perhaps he has none. He merely observes the horizon, but you know he remembers. You swallow thickly, toes curling into the sand.

 _“Mark saved me. And Taeyong—”_ He faces the sapphire one, and you cannot grasp his expression. Though Johnny remains with his calm gaze, and the dragons read one another. Then Johnny shakes his large, scaly head.

Winwin releases a short whine, horns bowing into the sand. Seagulls call; waves crash. Water rushes past his claws and your toes.

He sits like this for several minutes, and you can’t help but to study with a bated breath.

It is when the sun dips a leg into the ocean that he speaks again.  _“Why am I saved?”_

Johnny takes a few moments, you see his tail idly waving across the sand behind him, and he peers to where the it pulls against his forelegs.

 _“You were protecting me. You risked your life for mine,”_  He turns to the green one and your chest grows warm,  _“That is reason enough for him. For I.”_ Then he looks over, your naked figure in his gaze. You can’t determine anything beyond the indifference in his eyes. Slowly, he stalks forwards, around his brother, and comes to your side. He sits himself behind you. Covering you modestly with his wings again.

 _“Your kingdom will fall without a leader.”_ You feel his chin graze the top of your scalp.  _“Will you stay to protect your people?”_

Winwin’s eyes dart to you, then to Johnny, then to the sea.

And with a determination like none other,  _“I will.”_

He spares not one more glance nor word as he surges into the seeping sky, sands swirling in his wake. You loose sight of the jade jewel as he crosses the threshold of his kingdom.

“How do you feel?” You find yourself asking after moments of quaint intimacy. Johnny’s chin dips to the curve of your shoulder, and he can only tuck half of his head there. You hear him sigh.

_“Like it’s time to go home.”_

You find yourself vividly agreeing, sliding a hand along his jaw as he nestles closer to you. He’s never displayed such affections and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same as you.  _He did come to save me, after all…_

A wry smile pulls at your lips. Before you can climb atop his back, though, Johnny retracts.

 _“I’ve one last thing to do,”_ you peer at him in question, but he simply eyes the stone forcibly embedded into his chest.  _That must’ve hurt…_

_“This will only take a moment.”_

And then he stalks his massive body to the waterline, planting the icicles of a wing into the sand. He’s created a shield from the water, and every new wave surges around it. Puzzled, you approach, but not too close. There’s something prying on his mind and you dare not intervene. This is his duty and his alone. The black ivory of his claws dig into the protected space, and he goes a few feet or so until he’s satisfied. Then with a grunt, he’s plucked the aquamarine jewel from his chest.

You gasp, concerned; he bleeds, unbothered.

Eyes narrowed, he carefully drops the stone into his pit, and that’s the last you see of it. One swift swipe is all it takes to blanket the brief abyss with an abundance of sand, before he is unleashing his wings and letting the water take its toll.

Evidence of the hole vanishes with one wave.

_“Goodbye, brother.”_

_Goodbye, Mark._

You know why he’s done it. You don’t have to ask. You don’t have to listen for his thoughts; for his explanations. You feel as though it is the very first time you fully understand the ice dragon.

He wanted closure.

Burdened by the death of his beloved young brother, keeping his soul sealed within the mountain to protect him… Johnny wasn’t ready to let go.

But alas, in the aftermath of everything, he finally found the will to relent. To release him where he belongs.

_The water dragon returns to the sea._

You submerge yourself further into the water, and for the first time, you cannot feel the life of the brother thriving around you. You cannot feel his hum in the stones; you cannot feel the gusts of warmth that seep into the pool; you cannot feel the presence of the orbs guiding your path.

You miss him.

And that is quite possibly why you sink deeper. The water is warm, though not steaming as it had been. Which is still favorable over the consistent nudity you bore throughout the day.

_Ah, as it is, now I am comfortably naked._

You relax against the pool wall, eyes slanting as you exhale in relief. The darkness of the room certainly beats the fiery glint that tortured you in the dragons’ castle. The dim cyan orbs sway with mild lethargy above, and the pool glows a similar hue.

After several minutes, you remove yourself. You want to see Johnny. Wrapped in a cotton bath linen that feels glorious against your brazen skin—brazen because the flight back to the mountain atop the ice dragon was merciless and lengthy—and you snuggle your face against it before scaling the twirling stairs.  

The ceiling of the Roost still has a gaping hole for you to see the stars, the illusion of the swirling storm maintaining its false ferocity at the very top. The wall that had crumbled under Taeyong’s advances has been sealed with a formidable layer of ice. It does not melt, nor does it emanate intolerable chills. Surely, it is the result of the ice dragon’s flame—something so scalding that it’s cold, and ices over in the aftermath, remaining rock-like and stationary.

You run your hand over it when you breach the Roost.

Johnny is on his bed, donning a silky robe that reveals the expanse of his angular collarbones and pectorals. You swallow thickly as you face him. “The bath’s free,” you murmur out, and his moon-like eyes follow your syllables.

He watches you momentarily before sitting up with a huff. “Given that you are here now, and there is no other inhabitant in my mountain that I know of,” he stands, “I assume that much.”

Back to his mocking ways. You could shake your head, and you do—and it’s with a grin. The playful tone of his voice rebirths the feelings stirring in the pit of your stomach. The nervousness, the excitement, the glee.

_The love._

You shake your head and collect yourself before he can read your emotions. Then you step out of his way as he brushes past you, the silk of his robe tickling your toes. You’ve no choice but to wait until he’s done. You could rest, you reason as you watch the sashay of the locks atop his head whilst he descends.

Eyeing his four poster bed, you scamper over to it like a giddy troll, launching yourself atop the mattress in unaltered glee. The sheets smell like him—like freshly plucked spearmint, crisp and inviting—and they feel like him too.

_Yes, I shall rest. I can wait to be with him._

Your eyes dip closed as you breath in his surrounding scent. You think of Seulgi. You miss the comfort of a woman who’s actually taken your feelings into account. Surely she must be worrying over your disappearance. Or perhaps she knows of what happened from when Taeyong went to the castle with a proposition for your parents.

The maids spill tea like they pour it—quietly, but without relent.

That thought relieves you a bit; you’d hate for her to drown herself with worries.

And then there’s Jaehyun. Jaehyun, your trusted knight and childhood friend who you vow to see again. He knew of your schemes since the start, but the ordeal involving the other dragons must have come off as a shock to him. Perhaps he is the type who will come to your rescue, even if you don’t require it. You wonder if you’ll see him much sooner than anticipated.

Quickly, you sum up the number of those who your heart adores. It is few, but they are meaningful. It isn’t long until you’re thinking of a certain ice dragon as well.

 _As if I haven’t thought of him enough today._  His careful, calm eyes, oozing with everything and nothing all at once. The way they’d pierce your soul as they did your body, naked beneath his undeterred gaze. How he would protect you before himself, and wrap his sails around you to fend off prying eyes.

The subtle dark entities glistening in his moon-lit pools. How they’d graze over you without your immediate notice, and how they’d cause you to flush before growing presumptuous with confidence.

Before you heed it, you’re at the foot of the stairs once more. And you descend, your heart thrumming and the pit of your core buzzing with unspeakable, unfamiliar anticipation.

He’s faced away from you when you enter. Drowned in his own thoughts, perhaps, and his chest presses against the pool wall as you take in the divine landscape that is his back. You can tell he’s dipped below the surface—his hair is slicked with moisture as he tucks his chin against the stone, his head resting between his splayed arms.

You count the droplets the trail down his spine before you clear your throat for his attention. He doesn’t startle, rather, his head tilts to the right, and you can barely see both his eyes. He’s looking at you. Then he turns entirely, pressing his back to the pool wall. Elbows bending against the stone. There is an odd hue in his moons—the blue of the pool has seeped into them. It reflects in his orbs very much like you do, and he raises a brow at your entrance.

“Why do you feel so bold, princess?” His voice drags lazily, but not as though he’s tired. You see the way his eyes trace from yours to your toes, and then back up again. Repeating it once or twice. He’s not only reading you.

You pout your lips at the title, “You know I’m no longer a princess,” you ascertain with a toying smirk.

“Ah,” there a ripple of water where his legs kick underneath, “my mistake,  _Y/N…_ ” And you are lying if you claim that the term does not bring you shivers. His smirk matches yours, “what’s brought you to my bath?”

_It is now or it is never._

You give in to your confidence, spreading your wings like a baby bird bound for flight, and instead of wings, they are your arms. The linen drops with grace, puddling at your feet.

“Let me join you.”

The smirk is swiped directly from his lips. They straighten into something indescribable, and his eyes flash ever so faintly before returning to their tranquil state. “By all means,” He offers lowly, and you step to the edge of the bath before dipping a foot in. You remove your gaze from him—you already know he’s watching—and you perch atop the edge, twirling one foot in the water. It’s colder with him in it, and you can already feel the temperature biting your toes, but that only fuels to excite you. Then, you slowly submerge your legs, using the stone behind you as leverage into the water.

Once fully claimed by the mass, you release a shaky breath, a shiver darting down your spine. A delightful sting. An appropriate claim to make would be that you’ve already become well acclimated to the cold.

You feel the skin of your breasts tighten and the perky buds at their ends become poised with the chill. A steady breath, and you swim to the wall opposite of his. You study him; he studies you. Finally, you speak. “I missed you,” it’s been on your mind since you’ve returned to the Roost. And there’s no better time than now to admit it.

Johnny cocks his head slightly, but his eyes remain locked in a realm of unreadable. “We were not parted for very long.”

You shake your head at this with a sad smile, “It was long enough.”

At this, he does not respond. He sits back, relaxing against the wall, and you watch the way the veins in his neck contract as he stretches. He seems so tasteful to your virginal tongue.

“What did they do to you?” You met his eyes once more. In them is a fog that darkens as seconds pass. “My brothers—” he clarifies, and you’ve no choice but to bow your head in shame.  _He speaks of what happened between Winwin and I._ “Why were you naked before them? What did they do?”

Anger laced into his intricately placed syllables. You shrink under his gaze.

“It was a ploy—I was not meant to go farther than what you saw.”

“But you did?” He is quick to question, eyes burning hot white.

You cannot lie; he would know your truth regardless. “Only slightly.” You mumble, but when his jaw tightens, you are hasty to add, “But I did not want him. Neither of them.” Winwin’s was not the hand you wanted gracing your core.

However, it’s as though you’ve set yourself up in your answer, for the faintest of smirks plays with his lips until he is overcome by this shadowy entity again. He pushes off the wall, and, painfully slowly, he swims to you. The iciness of his being licks your front—the surge of water before him sliding between your legs. You bite back a hiss.

And before you, he floats, his arms entrapping you as he eases his front to yours. His palms grip the ledge on either side of your head. Your eyes lock to his. His moons—which have become far more new than full—trace your features without mercy.

“Then what is it you want?” Puffs of his breath expel against your cheeks, and you feel the hammering of his heart against you. You smooth a hand over his forearm, trailing it up, up, up, until it’s resting over the insistent beating.

“You already know, don’t you?” Because you are no longer shielding your emotions, and he can read you like his thousands upon thousands of books.

A tongue against yours isn’t unfamiliar—you realize long after your brief endeavors with Jaehyun—though his is. While first his lips encompass yours, plush and cool to the touch, you follow his lead as he wrings his fingers in your hair and tilts your head back. Then the muscle beyond his lips is infiltrating yours and you moan when a burst of glacial chill numbs the roof of your mouth.

He pulls away, slightly, as you feel him growing colder rather warmer, while you’re becoming sweltering with internal heat. He presses his groin to yours to relieve some pressing strain he must bear, and you nervously chance a glance to his foreign member under the water.

You can see it quite clearly, and it brings a supple amount of saliva to your mouth. You kiss him again, fingers dancing along his wonderful collarbones to wrap around his neck, and you reciprocate the lower touch with mild trepidation.

He begins to moan; a delicious melody in your ears, and he’s quick to hook an elbow beneath the crook of your knee. You startle with the angle, as it is not your pubic bone that faces the onslaught of his desperate strokes, but your cunt.

“J-Johnny!”

You couldn’t hold back, as you flush under the weight of the overwhelming stimulation. Your words are swallowed up by the man without regard, like a hungry predator gobbling up his prey. He slides himself through your folds a few more times, every pass of his cock bringing a tremble to your legs. Finally, he shows mercy, and pulls away from you.

“I’ve never done this,” you admit shyly, against his lower lip, your previous confidence swept away with the exploration of his manhood.  

“I know,” he puffs out, unhooking your leg. It drifts through the water with a gentleness that calms you, but you haven’t much time to catch your breath before his large hands are gripping at your waist and he’s lifting you from the water. The squeal in your throat is not battled, and you soon enough find your rear on the edge of the pool with your legs dangling over it. Your feet and ankles are still submerged, but your spine is pressed against the stone of the floor. Much is going through your thoughts now.

“Relax, Y/N,” he spreads your knees and settles between them. You can only see his eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”

With Jaehyun, you merely stroked he, and he stroked you. It was youthful curiosity that spurred your actions, and it was not regretted by either party. You still maintained a level of comfort with the boy that went unparalleled by any other. Yet, despite your minimal experience, nothing could have prepared you for the passing of Johnny’s tongue against your clit.

A hearty whine rests on your lips as you arch against the stone.

He still holds himself within the comforting embrace of water, arms hooked underneath your legs to keep you nice and open for him. He doesn’t cease at all, either. There is no relent in his way when he watches you shudder above him, your legs twitching with every dip of his muscle into your slickened core.

“It was so hard for me not to take you every time you became aroused,” the vibrato buzzes against your sensitive nerves, and you cry out. “When you’d look at me,” he slurps you heartily, eyes rolling back into a fluttering haze, “with that aura of  _desire,_ ” His tongue finally slithers into your cunt, like a moccasin sliding through a mud burrow, “it was so difficult to control myself.”

“Why… did… you?” bated breaths part your words as he further parts your limbs.

“I did not think you truly wanted me,” another string of slurps has you reeling back, your fingers grasping for something; anything. You feel him smirking. “But now I can see I was mistaken.”

“That’s… the damn truth,”  

He chuckles after you, and you nearly sob as he frees a hand from your wrenching knees to slide his fingers against you. His largest penetrates you without warning, and you grumble obscenities as he slides it to and fro; in and out. The stretch is delightful and you can only thank his masterful tongue for the preparation.

“Gods, you must have done this oft,” the mumble under your breath has him raising a brow before he’s removing his hand. You protest weakly, but he’s quick to lift himself from the water. Soon enough, he’s stationed above you, his cock pressing firmly to your patch of thick hair. Without the pool obscuring it, you witness it in its full glory for the first time. Awe consumes you, and you hardly notice he’s inserted not one, but two fingers into you. A cry on your lips; a smirk on his.

“I am centuries old, but do not think me a perverse old man,”

_I’ve heard those words before._

He works his fingers into you, lathing up your walls and using his thumb to circle the region above. Small whimpers escape you and you twitch after him, but you can’t keep your eyes off of his glorious manhood; you have little to compare it with, but it is large and appears as though it would be hefty in your palm. The underside is ribbed with pulsating veins while the top is smooth and leads to a thicket of dark curls.

He tongues your neck coolly, and while he’s not aware, you press a tentative foot against his tip.

An immediate response; a languid moan; a jerk of his hips.

He pulls back, and you know it is time. It’s a wordless exchange.

“You should be more modest,  _Y/N._ ” He growls, tugging your knees until they’re bent at your chest. “You were merely a princess just weeks ago.”

You squirm beneath him, smooth stone jabbing against your lower back. “But I’m a princess no longer,” you find yourself repeating, a huff of a murmur, and his expression softens as he grins.

After setting himself onto his knees, he bows just enough to splay his palms flat on either side of your head, and you care hear the droplets of water rolling from his elbows to the ground beneath. “I know,” He bends, kissing you gently.

And one hand pulls away, and you want to watch him grasp his member, and you want to watch him as he slides it against you some more, but you can’t break the contact with his eyes that continuously draws you in.

He sheathes himself—so agonizingly slow, but you cling to him suddenly. Because the intrusion is tight, and the intrusion stings, but it’s so wondrous.

Because it’s him.

He, who returns his hand to your side. Who expels a shaky breath, with contorted features. Lips pulled tight.

Your lower half is numb with his presence, and your torso bends to meet his lips. “Keep going,” you encourage against him. Your arms envelope his sturdy sides, the muscles at his shoulders contracting as his pulls out. You release a sigh.

“I know you could take it,” he chuckles lowly, his eyes crinkling sweetly.

Then he pumps himself back in, and you whine, and he does it again, and again. And his cock is as icy as the rest of him, if not more so, but your core sucks him in greedily, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s as desperate as you.

“Y/N” he coos, a rasp against your ear. “You feel so good… like you were made for me,” His pace increases, and you begin bouncing beneath him. Your head feels light, and your fingertips grow wrinkled with moisture.

You slide them through his slicked hair, and he’s quick to grab at your wrists, singlehandedly. He pins them above you—stretching your torso so he can mouth your breasts.

“Gods—” You bite your lip, your inner cheek, instinct drawing you to arch against him. “This is amazing!” It comes out as a hoarse cry through chattering teeth. Bones-chilling, and your eyes threatening to close, you fight to keep up with him.

Hips gyrating against him, he hisses out. You clench, and he hisses some more. “You’re ruining me, my love.”

Your chest flutters after him, and you try to smile, but it’s caught against his plump lips. He releases your hands to grope your sides and breasts, one hand trailing down to gently pinch your clit with every thrust. And your insides are numb with the cold, and you relish in the sensation as he stirs you up with his poised cock.

“Y/N, I’m not going to last much longer—” his mouth moves to your neck, and he suckles the skin like a newborn teething toys. You can feel his imprint on you, the skin of your throat blooming with frosty burns.

And it’s when his thrusts become frantic, and his body becomes jittery, when yours tenses and you’re overcome with a tryst of blinding pleasure. You cannot hear your cries, but you can feel them, your throat growing hoarse as your head back slams against the stone. You tighten and coil and explode all at once. Stars line your eyelids, much like those you spot from the Roost. And you lose yourself, for a bit, becoming lifeless like a doll battered by a great winter storm.

 _The greatest winter storm_ , you reason, consciously swept free of all things but the dragon mercilessly pounding into you.

He’s still going when you find your way back, and you’re still tense and tight, and he’s exclaiming all these things before he stutters and a blast of ice shoots within you.

Johnny collapses atop you, his hips rotating and grinding and meeting your abused pelvis as he milks himself dry.

You take it all, wholeheartedly, with a root of overstimulation, your insides feeling numb but full.

Much time passes before he slips out with a groan, and you exhale dramatically. A smile coursing your lips.

He turns off of you, but he can’t keep himself far—his arms encircle you and bring you to his chest. He’s relaxed now, and so are you, but you’re still dripping with his cum. It keeps you cool while you sweat from the exertion. Steam radiates from you.

“That was…” you can’t finish because he’s watching you quizzically. You giggle, stroking his chest.

“Hopefully tolerable, at the least,” he jokes as he pulls at your palm and brings it to his lips. You nod frantically, bursting with happiness.

“Yes, at the very least.”

“I would’ve imagined a former princess would prefer a bed…” he muses, and you swat his cheek.

“You should know I’m not one for royalties. This was more than divine.”

Twinkles in his eyes, he bows to nestle his nose against your cheek, much like a dog would to its loving owner.

At some point you find your way back into the Roost, an equally naked dragon following after you whilst carrying a ceaseless smirk.

At some point you fall into his bed again and again and it becomes your own.

At some point you abandon your plans to leave the lands.

And you see Jaehyun, and Seulgi, and you never stray too far from the mountain without your dragon at your side.

And you are his as much as he is yours.

And at every point, you are grateful for being the princess who was kidnapped by the ice dragon.  

_FIN_

* * *

 

 


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